


Fate and Frank Burns

by Amymimi



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Assault, Drink Spiking, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insults, Intense, Post-Divorce, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Stream of Consciousness, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymimi/pseuds/Amymimi
Summary: Margaret is in Tokyo, Hawkeye's hand is in a cast, and Charles is gravely injured... but what does all of this have to do with Frank Burns' decision to visit the 4077th?The story is complete!
Relationships: Frank Burns/Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please let me know what you think so far of this different kind of story endeavor in a kind of pseudo-stream-of-consciousness format! There are no major pairings in this and every chapter should be pretty dramatic. The story will be at first jumping between the present and the recent past and will eventually converge.  
> Oh, yeah, and I don't own a smidgen of M*A*S*H...

The blood—and the pain! He hadn't truly considered how much a single bullet could render him helpless. The wounded he treated daily he only saw for a moment before getting them stabilized and anesthetized—had they had to endure such agony?

He was going to die—there was no way on God's green earth that Pierce and Hunnicutt could stop the bleeding in time. Soon he would be in hemothorax and would need an Ambu-bag to help him breathe. Besides himself, the most talented surgeon of the 4077th was incapacitated with broken fingers and a stiff cast. Not only had he been robbed of his future, but he'd been robbed of his best chance for survival! What bitter irony it was that he, a skilled thoracic surgeon, was unable to operate on his own damaged chest!

He could hear the voices of Pierce and Hunnicutt but his vision was blurred. His failing eyes moved to look at the floor. The bullet had struck him in the upper left hand part of his chest and had nearly knocked him backwards, the sheer size of his body keeping him balanced—until now….

Though his visual acuity was failing, the fuzzy patch of crimson on the floor was unmistakable and he knew that he would soon go into shock and his heart rate would slow until it ran out of blood. The events of the past two days flashed before his eyes. How had such an innocuous time of ceasefire turned into his own personal bloodbath? How could he have been so naïve as to distrust the judgment of Pierce and Hunnicutt and to actually feel sorry for a sworn enemy?

________________________________________

TWO DAYS BEFORE 

To the outsider, it would seem like a rather laid-back day at the 4077th. The officers and enlisted men were given a choice in these easier times—to sleep in or attend breakfast. Being as most chose the former, there sat only two groups in the Mess Tent. A woman's voice cut through the chewing and sounds of mock gagging from two of the camp's surgeons. No one was yet aware of the changes that were to come. 

"Do you know what today is?"

Hawkeye Pierce looked up from his breakfast at the blonde nurse across the mess tent table, the person who had asked the question. Major Margaret Houlihan's expression was inscrutable as her gaze moved from him to the other men at the table: B.J. Hunnicutt, to Charles Winchester, and then to Father Mulcahy. Hawkeye held a finger up, attempting to answer Margaret. 

"That would be—lemme guess—it's now been a week without casualties. You know, God's gonna get jealous soon because we've gotten seven days off already and He only got to take off on the seventh day."

Mulcahy shook his head, a little smile on his lips. 

"Actually, I think the happiness God feels about this time of peace would trump that."

"Do you think this might be it?" B.J. commented. "That the war might be over and we can all go home? I can't believe that this ceasefire has held up for a week now…."

"Bite your tongue, Hunnicutt," Winchester retorted. "Audacious statements like those are likely to backfire." 

"Ehh, don't sweat it, Charles," Hawkeye commented with a shake of the head. "I'm sure they'll think of some other way to keep us here after the war's through, like making us repopulate South Korea. It'll be nothing but fun for us, but it'll take at least nine months for Margaret to do her duty."

Charles groaned. "Surely you jest. I would not deign to pass on the Winchester bloodline to a mere Korean. After all, our bloodline carries with it the rewards of tall stature, good health, longevity—"

"And male pattern baldness," B.J. cut in. Winchester snorted indignantly.

"I myself don't believe longevity's inherited," B.J continued. "It's all about day-to-day luck, really. Who knows; tomorrow you could get hit with a jeep."

"Are you going to run me down to prove a point, Hunnicutt?" Charles responded. "If you must know, my younger brother passed away at a very young age in an accident, and so I'm certain luck plays a part in lifespan, though I cannot discount that bloodlines have a role. As for me, if I can avoid being blown to pieces by the enemy long enough to get home from this war, I won't be stupid enough to invite bad luck on my own."

B.J. smiled.

"Tempting fate, are we, Chuck?"

"Don't get me started on fate," Winchester said with a laugh. "Fate is a fantasy of those who haven't enough money to chart out their existence as they see fit."

"What about you, Charles? I suppose then, that it was your money and not fate that got you to the 4077th, eh?" Hawkeye interjected. "Wow, and to figure, I thought you hated it here…"

Margaret rolled her eyes.

"I was trying to tell you all something. Can I get back to what I was saying?" 

"Go ahead," Hawkeye said, giving her a half grin. 

"While it may be true that we've had a week's r & r, but that's not why I brought it up just now. Today it's been one year since my divorce from Donald was finalized."

Hawkeye's eyes widened, and he watched her intently, clearly interested in her mentioning such an event. He spoke up, choosing his words carefully.

"And what do you plan to do to mark such an occasion?"

She looked self-conscious for a moment.

"I don't know…. I'm not sure how I should feel, but it has to mean something, you know? To have been officially divorced for a year."

"Now you can confess your undying love for me without any guilt," Hawkeye cracked. He watched Margaret roll her eyes yet again. "No, but seriously, Margaret, you shouldn't be alone today. It's kind of a tough call, how you're supposed to be feeling."

"Thank you for that, Hawkeye," Margaret replied, clearly touched by his understanding. He wasn't finished.

"Now, I don't _how_ you're supposed to be feeling, but I can tell you _who_ you're supposed to be feeling." He flashed her a mischievous grin.

"I am sorry to hear that, Margaret," Charles piped up, stealing Margaret's attention away from Hawkeye and ignoring Hawkeye's blatant flirtation with the nurse. "However, being as we are currently in ceasefire, I do believe your dismal anniversary merits a day in a Tokyo spa sipping sake and forgetting." 

"That sounds wonderful," she replied, shutting her eyes and smiling to herself. "Do you think Colonel Potter would approve it?" 

"Hell, he might even approve it for all of us," Hawkeye blurted. "Can you imagine? We'd get to be on each other's nerves in a completely different country." 

"I for one would not be caught one hundred yards from you cretins if I were able to escape this mire for a day," Winchester retorted. "Besides, the places I frequent are far too exclusive to allow you and Hunnicutt entrance." 

"That's because I prefer to use my cash to gain entrance to warmer, more comfortable places than your uppity little sushi joints. The fish is better there too." 

Charles's jaw dropped. 

"You are appalling, Pierce. And to think, I presumed you were above paying for—" 

"Their drinks, Chuckles!" Hawkeye cut in. "You underestimate my natural animal magnetism, which does the rest of the job." 

"Well, that certainly explains your devoted menagerie of six-legged bloodsuckers." 

"In case you're interested, they're for sale. My own personal flea market," Hawkeye replied, grinning mischievously at Charles. "…But getting back to the point—all men have to pay to get it—you I bet more than most. I mean, isn't that what marriage is—just a really expensive way of getting it long-term? There's the diamond ring and the ceremony, but it's really just a way to—" 

"Hey, I resent that!" Margaret exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Father Mulcahy stood up more slowly, a uncomfortable half-grin on his face. 

"I resent your resenting that, when you know it to be true," Hawkeye retorted, looking positively mischievous. 

"I think I'm going to get back to the Good Book," Mulcahy said, his voice hesitant. He looked around at the group. Hawkeye and Hunnicutt were clearly amused, Charles was aghast, and Margaret was furious. They had fallen into a subject that he didn't delve into. He tipped his hat to the group. "Have… fun, everyone." 

After Mulcahy left and Margaret was left standing up in angry silence, it was time for Hunnicutt to do damage control for Hawkeye. He hadn't been able to say much in the past couple of minutes and he was quite happy with his married life. 

"I'll apologize for Hawk, Margaret. He can't speak for you and me, being as he's never taken that trip down the aisle. Now, when I proposed to Peg, all I could think about was having our own little family and growing old together." 

"Thanks, B.J.," Margaret replied with a smile. "Don't worry, though; Captain Pierce's comments don't influence me in the slightest. He's just too terrified to open up and let a woman get to know the real him." 

"Now, that's not true," Hawkeye blurted, his eyes wide with mock offense. "It's just, the zipper of my outer shell hiding the real me broke off last time I tried to let someone in. Speaking of which, you never _did_ call the seamstress like you promised you would, Margaret. Was Klinger busy?" 

"Has anyone seen Colonel Potter today?" Margaret asked loudly. The group of officers shook their heads. Sergeant Klinger, who'd been sitting across the room chatting with some enlisted men, turned towards the nurse. 

"Last I saw him, he was on the phone," Klinger explained. "I'd tread lightly with him today—the conversation didn't look too pretty." 

"Well, speak of the devil!" B.J. commented as Colonel Potter walked into the mess tent immersed in a Zane Grey novel, striding to the buffet line more out of memory than sight. 

"I do believe you mean angel," Hawkeye added, "—that is, if Colonel Potter says yes to your request." 

Margaret immediately strode over to the short commanding officer. 

"Good morning, Colonel," she remarked, flashing him a disarming smile. He hesitated a moment before glancing up at her. 

"Good morning, Major," he said. "You're awful chipper today. Have you heard something I haven't? Oh, I was headed to the mess tent for a reason." He looked off into space. "What was it again?" 

"Well, it couldn't have been to eat," Hawkeye remarked. "Besides, Father Mulcahy isn't here for Last Rites." 

"I do have a request to make," Margaret said to Colonel Potter, clasping her hands nervously behind her back. "As you know, it's been a week of ceasefire…." 

"Yes," he said leadingly, glancing down to dog-ear the page he had been reading before the interruption. 

"…And today happens to be the one-year anniversary of the finalizing of my divorce from Colonel Penobscot…" 

"Happy anniversary—oh, I mean… I'm sorry to hear that, Margaret," he corrected, clearly distracted. He looked up at her to see a fleeting sign of irritation from the nurse. This was a typical reaction lately from everyone at the 4077th. 

In this period without casualties and rushed surgeries in the O.R., the M.A.S.H. officers had spent far less time together, instead pursuing their own interests and drifting apart somewhat. In the past several days, Charles had been toting his phonograph and records into the hills to listen to his music away from the Swamp, whereas Hawkeye and B.J. had been taking golf clubs and teeing off somewhere far away from the minefield or drinking themselves into a stupor with the contents of their homemade still. Colonel Potter and Father Mulcahy had been holing themselves up in their respective tents reading westerns and the Bible, respectively. In addition, Mulcahy had spent two days of the ceasefire at the local orphanage helping out the nuns. Margaret spent most of her time preening and listening to her Doris Day records on her phonograph in the privacy of her tent, though on occasion she would venture out with Charles and sample some of the edible delicacies he'd bring along on his little trips. 

Is this a bad time?" she asked Potter, annoyed that he wasn't paying her the least bit of attention. 

"No," Hawkeye yelled from the table. "We may not get another chance, Margaret." 

"What are you cutting in for, Pierce?" Potter called out. "What is this all about?" 

Margaret finally spoke, her head held high as her confidence returned. 

"I would like to request—" 

He held up a finger to cut her off, a big smile instantaneously appearing on his face. 

"Lemme guess—three days' leave in Tokyo." He noticed her look of pleasant surprise. "I'll grant you that, Margaret. You've definitely earned it. Sounds like you need some real r & r." 

Margaret's beamed at her commanding officer, her face noticeably brightening. Her smile was infectious. 

"Oh, thank you, Colonel. You don't know how much this means to me." 

"Just talk to Klinger and he'll get you the proper papers," Potter commented to Margaret. "If I'm not in the mess tent when you get back, I'll be in my tent reading." 

Just then, Margaret glanced back towards the party of three at the mess tent table. They were staring at her expectantly. She hesitated a moment too long. 

"Colonel," Hawkeye said, turning around on his bench and facing Colonel Potter. "Can Beej and I also have three days' leave?" 

Winchester glowered at the side of Hawkeye's face for not including him, and then he looked towards the colonel. Hawkeye cringed as the expression on Potter's face turned to a grimace for a split second. That was all it took to know what Potter would say next. 

________________________________________

Charles's keen mind could remember every sentence, every nuance of emotion as Margaret was unknowingly skirted away to safety and he was left in this hellhole to be gravely injured by a supposed ally. It played out clearly in his mind, the details of his memory still sharp in a fading world, seconds ticking by like minutes.

"Charles," Hawkeye called out, his voice distant. "Lie down so we can get some AB negative in you."

"Don't you dare close your eyes," B.J. added, lightly touching him on the back. Suddenly the moustached doctor pulled his hand away. "Guess there's no bullet to find—it went all the way through," he muttered, seeing his hand stained with Charles's blood. "He has two holes through the thoracic cavity." 

Immediately he grabbed the sheets off of a nearby bed and moved to Charles, holding them tightly against the wounds on his back and chest.

"We gotta get him into the O.R. but he needs to be stabilized first," Hawkeye called out. "Where's Colonel Potter? We need all the hands we can get."

Charles looked over at the blurry surgeon. Was Hawkeye insulting his weight? He couldn't reply either way and stood breathing noisily out of his nose and mouth. His face had since turned a shade of paper white.

"I'm gonna get some whole blood and a chest tube," B.J. said. "We need to get the air and blood out of his chest. You can hear it sucking. Here, hold this, Hawk."

"At least we can be glad that it didn't hit a major artery, Beej," Hawkeye muttered.

"How can you tell that from over there?" B.J. replied quickly.

"Well, for one, he wouldn't still be conscious."

Just then Klinger entered post-op. At the sight of a badly wounded Major Winchester, he ran over to Hawkeye's side.

Charles could tell that Klinger was now present—not because he could make out the shape of that gargantuan nose but because Klinger was, even now, wearing just a hint of cheap perfume. He recalled Klinger's role in Margaret's leave.

________________________________________

TWO DAYS BEFORE 

"Klinger, why don't you get Major Houlihan's paperwork started?" Colonel Potter told the company clerk immediately after Hawkeye had requested a leave like Margaret had just been granted. "Chop chop, time's a-wastin'." Margaret nodded excitedly at her C.O. and the Lebanese sergeant, and then glanced towards the three surgeons at the table who were awaiting the colonel's response. Klinger stood up and smartly saluted the colonel, awaiting Margaret's next move. Colonel Potter looked over at her, his eyebrows raised, a silent request for her to leave. Rather than question the colonel's behavior, she quickly strode out of the tent with Klinger in tow. Never had she imagined that that her request would go over so well. 

After Margaret and Klinger had left the tent, Potter clasped his hands behind his back and spoke to the surgeons. 

"I'd love to give you boys some time off but rumor has it that the ceasefire isn't gonna last another 24 hours. We'll need all the help we can get if we get bombarded with casualties." 

"The other casualty in this war is my sanity," Pierce muttered. "No one seems to care about that. If nothing else, my sanity needs a break away from here." 

"What are you talking about, Pierce?" Charles remarked dryly. "It's been on permanent leave since the moment you took your first breath." 

Pierce looked mockingly indignant. 

"Well, I gave that right back… but then I took it again." He exhaled loudly. "There—I gave it back." 

It was then that Pierce realized something and looked at Colonel Potter. 

"Wait a second here, Colonel. You just let Margaret go but—" 

"Have you no shame?" Charles interrupted, standing up with hands firmly planted on the table. "Let the woman have her well-deserved break." 

Both men turned to Colonel Potter, who had kept mum while they bickered. 

"There are plenty of nurses who can aid with operations during Margaret's absence," Potter explained. Hawkeye wasn't satisfied with the explanation. 

"Margaret could have been requesting anything, but you gave her three days' leave. Why'd you do that?" 

"Pierce, how dare you—" Charles growled. 

"Geez, Charles, are you Margaret's keeper or something?" B.J. commented. 

"Gimme a second, you three," Potter murmured, holding up a hand. He strode quickly over to the mess tent entrance and looked around outside. Satisfied with what he saw, he strode back over to the group and stood over their table, leaning towards them. His voice was low. 

"Promise me you won't tell Margaret what I'm about to tell you." 

"You have my word," Pierce said, raising a hand as if taking an oath. Winchester and B.J. nodded solemnly. The three men leaned in towards Potter, extremely intrigued. 

"Colonel Burns will be paying the 4077th a visit in the coming days," he murmured. 

Hawkeye's eyes widened as he gaped at Colonel Potter. 

"Frank Burns? But why?" 

"I don't know, but I would guess he's been keeping tabs on Margaret all along. I'll bet it's no coincidence that he's expected to arrive on the one year anniversary of her divorce. That's why I sent her to Tokyo. I doubt he's stable enough to be trusted." 

"It's too bad you weren't on his medical board back when his reign of terror began," Hawkeye muttered. "I wouldn't trust Frank Burns to stitch a shirt, let alone the person inside it." 

Charles hadn't been filled in on this particular relationship of the man he'd replaced. Curiosity could be plainly seen on his face. 

"Are you insinuating that Colonel Burns and Major Houlihan were once an item?" he asked the group. "I have heard all about his surgical incompetence time and time again and yet no one felt the need to inform me of this crucial piece of information." 

Hunnicutt was the one to answer. 

"I guess it's because it was so obvious to all of us and was in fact the 4077th's worst-kept secret. However, Frank's idiocy was no secret to anyone." 

________________________________________

The emotions that Charles associated with Frank Burns at that point in time had been neutral at most. He'd certainly heard his share of stories about Burns's shortcomings and negative personality traits, of which there were many. The impending arrival of the much-maligned man had brought forth at that time curiosity and intrigue. It wasn't often he met a person who wasn't dazzled by Pierce's so-called wit.

Hawkeye directed Charles to lie down on the post-op bed directly behind him. Charles's eyes scanned the room to find Hunnicutt missing, namely because he was fetching the AB negative blood and a chest tube. He lie down with his hand firmly over the wound, pain shooting through the entirety of his body as his posture adjusted to the new position. Hawkeye was certain to hold the balled-up sheets against the exit wound on his back, which made lying down distinctly uncomfortable.

"You'll have to take this lying down," Hawkeye muttered, the subject matter lighthearted but the delivery grave. "Don't worry; Beej will be right back and you'll be able to breathe easy again."

Once Charles was flat on his back, Hawkeye grabbed some gauze and pressed down on the sheet-covered wound on his chest. This of course didn't make it very easy for Charles to breathe and only increased his pain—it was difficult to think in this situation, aside from the sound of the Sequentia from Mozart's Requiem Mass ever-increasing in volume in the confines of his brain. Just like Mozart's Requiem, his life would be an incomplete work; he was certain of it.

"Klinger!" Hawkeye yelled out. "Get me an Ambu bag and some more dressings! We need to stop the bleeding and keep him breathing."

Charles watched with terror-stricken eyes at the gauze immediately turning crimson as well as Pierce's off-white cast, in addition to the already-stained sheets. Clearly Pierce and Hunnicutt were top-notch surgeons, but could they save him from a point-blank gunshot wound to the chest?


	2. The Arrival of Frank Burns

The day before Charles was shot, Margaret had been sent away on leave without incident.

"Doesn't it seem odd that this is going so smoothly?" Margaret asked Hawkeye as she got into the jeep, Klinger behind the wheel. The black-haired surgeon stood beside the vehicle, holding her final suitcase up so that she could stow it safely in the back of the jeep. "And why weren't you three able to go?"

"The more we all thought about it, the more we realized how much we'd miss the food here," Hawkeye remarked with a shrug, having kept mum for the last hour the preparations were finalized.

"Right," she muttered. "What's really going on? Are you expecting casualties? Is the ceasefire over?"

Hawkeye shook his head with self-disappointment.

"Just go, Margaret. We'll still be here when you get back."

Klinger started the jeep and Margaret tucked the suitcase behind her seat.

"See you in three days!" she said, smiling giddily.

The vehicle pulled away from Hawkeye to begin its short drive to the helipad, a faster way of leaving the compound. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and frowned.

"Yeah, if Frank doesn't court-martial me first," he muttered to himself.

\---------------

Within an hour of Margaret's departure from the 4077th, Hawkeye and B.J. awoke from a booze-induced stupor to find Major Winchester combing what was left of his hair.

"Charles, what are you doing?" Hawkeye asked, his voice gravelly, as he pulled his trousers on over his shorts.

"Is it not obvious?" Winchester replied, staring down at them haughtily. Hawkeye gave him a look of mock understanding.

"Aww, are you reminiscing about the days when the comb was useful?"

"Ha ha," Charles deadpanned. "I am merely attempting to make a good first impression on Colonel Burns."

"The only good impression Frank needs is the impression of a fist in his face," Hawkeye said yawningly, beginning to get dressed.

"I am well-aware that you both did not get on well with Colonel Burns, but is that enough to warrant—"

"His execution—yes, it is," Hawkeye cut in. "He's an ignorant, incompetent hypocrite and an all-around lousy person."

"But besides that, he's perfectly tolerable," B.J. added with a teasing shrug. Hawkeye spoke up again.

"Anyway, Winchester, could ya stop calling him Colonel? He's only a Lieutenant Colonel and completely inferior to Colonel Potter."

"…as well as anything with higher brain function," B.J. remarked.

Charles looked amused at the barrage of insults directed at someone other than him, for a change. He watched as Hawkeye pulled on his maroon bathrobe.

"My, you two don't pull your punches, do you?"

"Never," Hawkeye said gloatingly. "However, if it was up to us, we'd pull his medical license."

"Didn't you mention that he'd been taken out of Korea in a straitjacket?" Charles commented. "Perhaps your so-called _jokey_ remarks were contributory in the formation of his 'lousy' persona."

"Nah," Hawkeye replied. "He was a paranoid bigot when he got here."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that, Pierce," Charles replied matter-of-factly. "For instance, if it weren't for my sizable sense of self-worth and my lofty status in society, several of the remarks you've made in the past might have actually hurt me. I cannot imagine this 'Burns' possessing my line of defense against your barrage of thinly-veiled insults."

"His chief line of defense is his thick skull," Hawkeye responded with a shrug. "That and the fact that half the stuff we tell him he doesn't understand. Believe me, once you meet Frank Burns you'll see what we mean."

"He makes a valid point, though, Hawk," B.J. interjected. "I don't think anyone's been very nice to him, except for Margaret, for a time. I kind of don't blame him for being paranoid about the intentions of others."

"Hey, his rottenness has nothing to do with me," Hawkeye insisted.

"Just keep telling yourself that," Charles responded in a sing-song voice.

\--------------------

Now Charles's eyes were shut tightly, and he could tell that his left lung was in danger of collapse. Pierce had since received the dressings from Klinger and had applied them on top of the existing blood-soaked dressings.

"Captain, I heard there was an emergency," Margaret's voice rang out as she entered the post-op ward. She saw the blood on the floor, an unconscious Frank Burns draped over a wounded North Korean patient, and an alarmingly pale Charles being attended to by Pierce with blood-soaked gauze. Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide with dread as she spoke. "Oh my God."

B.J. arrived immediately after Margaret, jogging towards Charles's bed with two units of blood and a chest tube looped over his arm. Charles turned his head to look over at Burns's still figure, the traces of a shiner probably beginning to appear on his cheekbone. He recalled the absurdly awkward meeting with the paranoid former Swampman only yesterday.

\------------

ONE DAY BEFORE 

It was during Winchester's preparations that Klinger entered the Swamp, the growl of a jeep engine growing increasingly louder as the door of the Swamp remained open behind him.

"Colonel Burns has arrived, Sirs."

"Great," B.J. muttered.

"Ugh, and here, I thought the Geneva Convention prohibited torture of medical personnel," Hawkeye told Klinger.

"Would you two give it a rest?" Charles commented, looking irritable. "Perhaps the man has changed for the better."

"That's true," Hawkeye replied thoughtfully. "He couldn't get any worse…."

The four men stepped outside the Swamp to greet Burns. Frank was standing at attention besides his jeep, fully bedecked in his Lieutenant Colonel's silver oak leaf and impeccably clean uniform. Noticeably missing were his gold caduceus lapel pins. He was, however, wearing a sidearm. Hawkeye felt the urge to roll his eyes at the holster.

"Hey Frank," Hawkeye said tiredly, dragging his feet as he stepped out of the Swamp, clad in his bathrobe and tennis shoes and possessing a 5 o' clock shadow.

"Hi there, Frank," B.J. called, attempting to sound chipper. Klinger didn't even bother to acknowledge Frank; he just kept walking back towards the O.R. building, with Frank's eyes locked on him the entire time.

"Corporal Klinger!" Frank yelled, stopping the Lebanese man in mid-stride. "How dare you avoid addressing or saluting me and then, on top of that, you leave my bags in the dirt! Where is Corporal O'Reilly?"

"Well, when he heard you were coming, he went AWOL," Hawkeye jeered. Frank could only glare at him, not completely certain he was joking. "Still the same old Frank," Hawkeye murmured to B.J. as he shrugged.

"If he's going to be addressed, I wish he'd address himself back to the States," B.J. replied. They both smiled knowingly at each other, watching Klinger stride back over to the jeep. Klinger smiled up at the lieutenant colonel.

"It's Sergeant now, Sir, and may I say how well you look?"

"Oh, blow it out your ears," Frank muttered, staring Klinger down as he gathered up his bags. He arranged his posture and spoke once again to the company clerk. "I see that you're finally dressing like a man."

"Very observant, Sir," Klinger replied, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.

"Thank you, Klinger," Frank said with a lipless grin. Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged looks of amusement. Klinger was clearly patronizing Frank and he didn't even pick up on it.

Once the four surgeons were alone in the center of the compound, Frank sneered as his eyes scanned Hawkeye and then B.J. from top to bottom. Hawkeye was wearing his ratty maroon robe with his dust-covered combat boots and B.J. was wearing a straw hat and coral-colored t-shirt.

"I see neither of you have changed. Still a disgrace to the U.S. Army," Frank grumbled.

"It's good to see you too, Frank," B.J. replied. Frank's face turned red and he responded in a highly exaggerated fashion.

"I've heard that before!" He gawked at B.J. "And what's that on your face, Captain?"

Hunnicutt looked confused and then shrugged good-naturedly.

"That—hair above your nose," Frank said with a sneer as he pointed at the offending object, saying the word hair in a disgusted tone of voice.

"It's called a moustache," Hawkeye replied. "Don't worry; after you've hit puberty, yours will come in."

"I know what it's called!" Frank hissed. "What I'm saying is how can that be sterile for surgery?"

"Well, I'm not kissing the patients, Frank," B.J. replied matter-of-factly. "It hasn't been an issue yet."

"What do you know about being sterile, anyway?" Hawkeye shot. "I mean, besides the fact that your father should have been sterile."

"That smarted," Charles muttered with a wince, as Frank glared at the dark-haired doctor. Even so, it appeared as if Frank stood expectantly. A silence fell over the group.

"Aren't you going to salute your superior?"

"Right," Hawkeye muttered. He and B.J. turned to Charles and saluted him crisply. Winchester looked taken aback. Now Frank's beady eyes were locked on him for a moment. Within a second or two, Frank's gaze had shifted back to the two captains.

"Not him, you nincompoops—me!" Frank replied in a whiny tone, as his former bunkmates turned to face him again.

"Well, Frank, gold _is_ superior to silver. Charles here has a gold oak leaf and yours is only silver."

"That means nothing!" Frank fumed. B.J. shrugged and added his own thoughts.

"It is a good point, Frank. Would you rather win gold or silver in the Olympics?"

Frank sneered at the two captains, pointing towards Winchester.

"That has nothing to do with it. I am a Lieutenant Colonel of the United States Army and my silver pin is better than his gold."

"Nah," Hawkeye replied. "—and I'll bet yours tarnishes like crazy."

Frank tilted his head as he considered, his anger dissipating as he spoke.

"That's true—I have to polish it once a week." He paused for a moment, considering. "It doesn't make any sense, really, for me to wear a silver pin and for a mere major to wear a gold pin."

"Actually," Charles said, stepping forward and ignoring the jab at his rank, "my gold oak leaf is in fact made of brass, whereas yours is bona fide silver. So it is correct to say that a lieutenant colonel's oak leaf outranks that of a major's both traditionally and in terms of raw materials."

"I knew that," Frank hissed, glaring down this unknown man who had spoken out of line. "I just wanted to see if Pierce and Hunnicutt here were aware of that." He wagged his head at them. "Guess not. So who are you, Bub?"

Pierce and Hunnicutt could only glance at each other and then at Frank, who was desperately trying to save face in front of Major Winchester. Winchester wrinkled his nose distastefully at being called _bub_.

"I beg your pardon. Allow me to introduce myself," Charles said with overstated joviality, holding his hand out to shake Frank's hand. "I am Major Charles Emerson Winchester III—Harvard Medical School '43."

Frank looked intrigued and yet affronted all the same. He did not extend his hand for a handshake, instead staring warily at the taller man.

"So you're the man they sent to replace me," he mumbled, looking up at Major Winchester.

"Actually, that's not true," Hawkeye cut in, before Winchester could reply. "Charles here is a _surgeon_."

Frank looked confused. He put his hands on his hips. Charles slowly lowered his hand, squinting irritably at this man who'd neglected to greet him properly.

" _I'm_ a surgeon."

"Let's just say you're closer to being a _sturgeon_ than you are a surgeon," Pierce quipped. "You have the lips for it."

Frank sighed and his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. He could sense that he was very quickly losing whatever bit of respect he had upon arriving at the 4077th.

"Aw, cut it out, Pierce."

Hawkeye grinned at him.

"I'm just glad you knew to pass the job on to me. After all, cutting it out is something only a surgeon does."

Frank glared at the tall dark-haired surgeon.

"Now, that's just uncalled for!"

"What are you talking about, Frank?" B.J. added. "You just told Hawk to cut it out. You yourself called for it."

Charles was beginning to be more than slightly uncomfortable with the two-against-one insult fest. He looked towards his two bunkmates and then at their new arrival.

"I'm sure Colonel Burns has better things to do than play verbal chess with you two all day. Isn't that right, Colonel?"

Frank huffed indignantly at Winchester.

"I don't play chess! And I'd appreciate it if you'd mind your own beeswax!"

Charles blinked several times in confusion. How positively odd this man was. And where were his caduceus pins, if indeed he was a surgeon at the 4077th? B.J. spoke up.

"I have to admit it, Frank, your new title is way better than the last one."

Frank could only stare at Hunnicutt, clearly baffled. Was he being paid a compliment or an insult? He couldn't tell. Most of the time, Hunnicutt acted as a kind of buffer between him and Hawkeye, whose animosity towards the higher-ranked officer was as plain as the nose on his face. It didn't help that Frank had attempted to get Pierce hanged for a supposed mutiny, in addition to the countless times he'd reported Pierce for simply teasing him. B.J. continued explaining.

"'Major Burns' can kill you but 'Colonel Burns' just means the popcorn is overdone."

Hunnicutt followed his little joke with a shrug. At that, Frank's mouth dropped open and he had no verbal retort. It was more of an awful pun than it was a nasty remark. Frank was not safe for long, however. Hawkeye took the opportunity for a quip of his own.

"Actually, Beej, I bet Ferret-face could still kill you—that is, if you're a patient of his."

Charles glanced down at his watch. Lunchtime was nigh. He looked at the group.

"It is now lunchtime, gentlemen, and I recommend we take this most _delightful_ exchange over to the mess tent."

Hawkeye and B.J. nodded and began walking in the direction of the mess tent. Frank, however, didn't move a muscle.

"You're just like them, aren't you?" Frank said with a sneer. Winchester's eyes narrowed.

"Pardon?"

"You're enjoying this, watching them insult me! Not only that, but they saluted you and haven't insulted you one time!"

"In fact, Colonel, I was being sarcastic in my statement," Charles corrected. "Believe me, when I first arrived here, I was not immune to the insults, practical jokes, and clever little stunts your former bunkmates so enjoy."

B.J. shrugged.

"He did end up getting a shot for it though, so he no longer reacts to it."

"The swelling still hasn't gone down though," Pierce added. "You'll soon be able to tell that it's still very much present in his head, especially."

Frank ignored the snarky comments and continued to gape at Winchester. "You've been here for what, a year and a half? They haven't even tried to embarrass you!"

"Just wait another minute or two," Hawkeye said with a snicker.

"Believe me, this is the exception and not the rule," Charles explained with wide eyes, his words tinged with nervous laughter. "They are usually far worse. The other day, for example, they took one of my Mozart records and—"

"Must not be busy enough around here, keeping records on art," Frank disdainfully remarked with a sharp outtake of air. "Especially art of moats. The castles are far more interesting-looking, anyway."

Charles could only gape at Frank. Perhaps Pierce and Hunnicutt were on to something.

\----------------

Once inside the mess tent, Hawkeye and B.J. hung back in the buffet line and let Frank go ahead and pick up what they could stomach. Charles kept his ears open for whatever they were to discuss, but said nothing.

"Did you notice he's not wearing his medical corps pins?" Hunnicutt whispered to Hawkeye. Hawkeye nodded.

"I did notice that. I wonder what happened…"

"It'll probably come out sooner or later," Hunnicutt remarked. "At the very least, it looks like he won't be helping us with any surgeries when the ceasefire ends."

"That's great news," Hawkeye replied. "And it's even better news for the patients."

\-----------------------------------------

Charles's eyes snapped back into the tension-filled atmosphere of the post-op ward at the sharp prick of the large-gauge needle into the crook of his elbow, a lifeline to a new blood supply that had already been hung up on the IV hook. Colonel Potter had since arrived and was operating the Ambu-bag and Charles noticed with bleary eyes that the chest tube had already been inserted into the wound. Drifting away for those moments had temporarily relieved the pain until that sharp jab into his arm. Winchester stared up at the people gathered around him and could thankfully make out the faces: Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt, Colonel Potter, Margaret, and even Klinger. He was relieved that Father Mulcahy was nowhere to be seen. That could only be interpreted as a good sign.

"Thank God, Charles; we thought we were losing you there for a minute," Hawkeye said with a sigh of relief. "Keep your eyes open and blinking so we know we're on the right track."

Now that Charles was no longer struggling for breath, he attempted to speak, though his words were muffled inside the Ambu-bag.

"I'm just recalling how it came to this," he said while exhaling. At that, he glanced over towards Frank, who was no longer lying over the North Korean patient but was seated on the floor, propped up against the bed in a straitjacket but still unconscious. In spite of himself, Charles found it to be one of the most pitiful sights he'd ever seen.


	3. An Unimpressive Impression

After Frank's arrival to the 4077th, the four surgeons had headed over to the mess tent under the influence of Charles's opinion and they'd noticed the lack of a caduceus on Frank. Even so, they approached his table, maintaining a guise of friendliness.

"Where's Margaret?" Frank asked, as soon as Charles, Hawkeye and B.J. arrived at the table. At the moment, Frank looked rather pitiful, his eyebrows angled in such a way that he looked like a frightened puppy. "I know she's no longer with Colonel Penobscott."

"She's on leave," Hawkeye murmured. "Nurses' convention."

"Where?"

Hawkeye took in a breath and held it.

"Dunno; she wouldn't tell me." He shrugged. "I mean, you'd think she'd tell her own _husband_ where she was going, but no…"

Frank blanched and his expression changed to that of utter horror.

"What? You're not married! She's only been divorced for a year!" he yelled. "And you're not even wearing a ring!" he added, pointing at Hawkeye's fingers and gesticulating wildly.

"What about _you_ , Frank?" Hunnicutt remarked. "You never wore a ring even though you were married." He held up his left hand. "None of us surgeons wear rings; you know that—we need the full use of our hands for surgery. The fact that Hawk doesn't wear a ring means nothing."

"You should see the ring I got Margaret, though," Hawkeye said with a wink. "She doesn't take it off. Everything else, though, she does."

"You're disgusting!" Frank said, standing up abruptly. "I'm leaving!"

"Best thing you've said all day," Hawkeye muttered under his breath, looking down at his food as Frank left the mess tent without having eaten a single morsel of food. Charles let out a long-held sigh as soon as it was apparent that Frank was long-gone from earshot.

"Not to play devil's advocate," he murmured, "but I can't believe you two derive enjoyment from insulting a man who lacks the mental capacity to respond properly."

"Are you kidding?" Hawkeye said, noticeably brightening. "That's what we like most about it!"

"You're fighting a battle of wits with an unarmed man," Charles responded. "Has he done anything else to merit the kind of treatment you are doling out to him?"

"More than enough," Hawkeye replied. "When Colonel Blake, rest in peace, was the c.o. here, Frank constantly tried to get him fired. He and Margaret always went over Henry's head to get me and Trapper in trouble with the MPs. I can't count how many times I was almost court-martialed or even hanged on account of that man's yapping lipless maw. He'll backstab anybody with a back."

"Is he always so despondent?" Charles asked, stirring his slightly greenish creamed corn in its tray compartment. "He may very well be the most miserable person I've ever met."

Hawkeye replied.

"No—because for a long time, he had Margaret to relieve all that pent up emotion with."

"What did Margaret see in him, anyway?" B.J. questioned, with Charles listening intently as he ate. "I still can't figure it out."

"Maybe it was the fact that Frank was permanently attached to her earlobes and her feet."

Charles looked mildly disgusted and put down his spoon.

"Are you saying the man's a fetishist?"

"Yup," Hawkeye said, nodding his head exaggeratedly. "A finking, ferret-faced fetishist, at that."

"If only I knew how two you really felt about him," Charles remarked, sarcasm dripping from his words. He stood up, having finished up the last of his creamed corn and cabbage. He bowed his head slightly to excuse himself. "Gentlemen."

\-------------------------------------

Upon entering the Swamp, Charles was startled by the presence of Frank Burns sitting on Hawkeye's bed and digging through Hawkeye's footlocker. His surprised intake of breath was heard by Frank, whose head turned quickly to identify the intruder.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, his piercing eyes locked on Charles.

"I live here," Winchester said, grimacing, "as distasteful as it sounds. My bunk is over there." He pointed in the direction of his bed. Frank didn't budge from his place on Hawkeye's bed.

"That's where I used to sleep," Frank muttered. He exhaled rather forcefully, staring over at the cot. Charles hid his automatic face of distaste.

"Are you… looking for something?" Charles asked.

"I don't know," Frank replied hopelessly. "Pierce and Hunnicutt stole so much of my stuff that I don't remember what all they took." Just then he lifted up a pocket watch and grinned. "Here's something. This is _my_ pocket watch. My mother gave it to me. Those lousy, no-good thieves."

"Oh, did she," Charles said, wincing at the cheap timepiece, its cover made out of some kind of steel. The initials on the back of the pocket watch shone BFP. Surely this was not Frank's watch.

"B, F, P," Charles muttered. "Are you certain that that pocket watch is yours?"

"Damn straight it is," Frank replied confidently. "It stands for Burns, Frank P."

"Oh, is that right? What's your middle name?"

Frank hesitated for a moment, looking self-conscious.

"Marion."

\----------------------

Charles couldn't believe that Frank slipped the object into his jacket pocket as nonchalantly as if it were his. The silence that had fallen between them was tangible.

"Is Major Houlihan really married to Pierce?" Frank suddenly blurted.

"Ah. So is that your original intention for encroaching upon Pierce's footlocker—looking for a wedding ring?" Charles watched Frank's face fall. "Well, you won't find one."

"Why not?"

Charles froze for a moment. He'd given up his dream of Tokyo to save Margaret's skin and now he was left with a dilemma—should he release Colonel Burns's leash and allow him to pursue the woman, or continue the façade of Major Houlihan's marriage to Pierce?

"Well," Charles began, "As you probably already realize, Pierce is not one for such… restrictive garments."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank replied, frowning. "Are they married or not? Tell me the truth. That's an order, _Major_."

"I don't involve myself in the affairs of others," Charles said as nonchalantly as possible. "Especially not Pierce's."

"Huh!" Frank scoffed, his face troubled. "He better not be married to her, or I swear I'll.…"

As Frank's voice trailed off, Charles moved to sit down on his own cot. So far, Frank had not managed to say anything nasty or insulting. Could it be that Pierce and Hunnicutt were the cause of his miserable attitude?

"So Pierce and Hunnicutt give you a hard time?" Frank blurted.

"Constantly," Charles replied. "You are certainly not the only person to be a target of their senseless jokes."

"I can't even talk about what all they did to me. Ugh, they're probably going to be coming back soon."

"Most assuredly," Winchester said. "The reason I'm not remaining in this tent much longer."

"Where are you going?"

"The Officers Club," Winchester replied. "Care to join me?"

"And drink? At this hour of the day?" Frank said, his top lip trembling. He stared off into space for a moment, his face unreadable. "Oh, why not…"

\------------------------------

"Where do you suppose Charles went?" Hawkeye said, after finding the Swamp empty and Winchester's phonograph still present. He'd certainly not wandered up in the hills as was customary these past few days.

"Probably scrambled off to the latrines in a mad rush," Hunnicutt replied. "He actually tried to eat lunch today. Poor guy…."

"Well, there goes his day," Pierce murmured, shaking his head.

"Do you think Frank is really going to leave?"

"He hasn't seen Margaret yet. I bet he's gonna wait around just to ask her if she and I are married."

B.J. looked concerned.

"You should tell him, Hawk. He's already overstayed his welcome."

Hawkeye only shrugged as he replied.

"What welcome?"

\--------------------------------

"What will you be having?"

Charles looked over at Frank Burns, who had sat down glumly in the Officers Club staring up at the prices behind the bar. Frank didn't reply or even so much as acknowledge his question. Here he was, being unbiased and uncharacteristically kind to the much-reviled Frank Burns, and yet, Frank wasn't giving him the satisfaction of succeeding in his unselfish venture.

"Bartender," Charles called out, "a cognac, please."

Suddenly Frank snapped back to attention.

"A cognac?" he said, scrunching up his face in distaste. "Is that… alcohol?"

Charles immediately wiped the incredulous look off his face.

"It is indeed. The finest kind this army scrip can buy—"

"No wonder Pierce and Hunnicutt like you. You're a lush just like them, aren't you?"

Charles turned to Burns, clearly insulted. Frank was even less tactless than Pierce and Hunnicutt combined. In fact, he found it difficult to be civil, but civility nevertheless prevailed.

"Colonel," he stated, his chin in the air, "though you may outrank me, I do not appreciate the continuous attacks on my character. I have graciously extended an olive branch to you and you have thrown it on the ground and spat on it."

Colonel Burns glared over at him without a word, pondering his next comment.

"They've done this to me, the lot of them: Pierce, McIntyre, Hunnicutt…" He took a breath, clenching his teeth. "All I want to know is—where the hell is Major Houlihan?"

"As Pierce already dictated, she's not here," Winchester replied, taking a sip of his drink. Frank looked at him earnestly.

"When will she be back?"

"I am not certain," Winchester lied. Frank Burns and Major Houlihan together made no sense. Surely it was better to keep him away from her. His opinion of this man was steadily dropping.

"You're not certain of anything, are you? And they call _me_ indecisive."

"Heh," Charles muttered under his breath, "that's not the worst I've heard."

Frank didn't seem to catch the little jab and looked up towards Igor, who was standing behind the bar.

"Bartender," Frank called out, "I'll have a Shirley Temple."

"A Shirley Temple?" Charles commented, almost spitting out his cognac in laughter. "Surely you jest."

Frank gave him a thoughtful look.

"I've never heard of that drink," he admitted. "Is it anything like a Shirley Temple?"

\---------------------------

"Fancy meeting you here, Frank," Hawkeye called out, as he entered the Officer's Club. Frank was sitting beside Major Winchester nursing his second Shirley Temple, staring at his drink and speaking to no one. The lieutenant colonel didn't so much as look up at the comment.

"And Charles! So sorry to spoil your fun," B.J. added, swooping between the pair and putting his hands on the two men's shoulders.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you," Charles muttered irritably, finishing off the last of his third snifter of cognac. Only a state of total inebriation would cause him to even dare speak a word to Colonel Clueless again.

"I'll bet you miss the patients, don't you?" Hawkeye asked Major Winchester. He saw as Charles turned towards him ever so slightly, rolling his eyes.

"And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?" Charles replied, frowning.

"I mean, let's face it; they're far more entertaining than Frank here," Hawkeye answered, slapping Frank on the back. "And they can carry on a conversation better too, even when they're unconscious."

"Shut up, snots!" Frank growled, turning to face his bullies. "I didn't come here for you, so leave me alone! Once I see Margaret, then I'll go!"

"Promise?" Hawkeye jeered. Frank's face reddened with rage.

"Where is she, Pierce?"

"She's in my footlocker," Pierce replied matter-of-factly. "Didn't you find her in there when you were nibbing around? She's under the second issue of my Nude Volleyball magazine."

"Hardy har har, very funny," Frank deadpanned, clearly not amused. "Now, where is she?"

Hawkeye grinned at the frowning lieutenant colonel.

"Believe me, Frank, if she were here, we wouldn't have to hide her from you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"She's developed a liking for lips and chins," B.J. explained. "In short, you're 0 for 2."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you have any thoughts as to the structure, characterizations, etc. of this story I encourage you to review!


	4. The Officers Club

The bright light startled him and he blinked indignantly under the O.R. lamp. Pierce and Hunnicutt must have successfully prevented the buildup of air or blood in his chest cavity, because he was able to breathe in spite of the pain of the gunshot wound. Charles spoke, his voice a low murmur.

"Could you find something a little dimmer, like perhaps the _sun_?" he deadpanned.

Pierce and Hunnicutt laughed.

"Glad to see your sense of humor is intact," B.J. commented.

"Unlike my rib cage," Charles groaned.

"Well, look at the bright side, Charles; it eliminates the need for a rib spreader," Hawkeye said. "The patients have said that they're sore for days when we're forced to use that."

"Thank goodness I've avoided a bout of post-operative soreness by having my ribcage blown to bits," Charles retorted, cringing as he spoke sarcastically.

"It's not blown to bits, Son," Colonel Potter said gently. "Your x-ray showed only two broken ribs."

Charles could only gape at Colonel Potter. He hadn't recalled getting an x-ray, but he did recall that first meeting between Potter and Burns at the Officer's Club. Charles had made the mistake of inviting that killjoy to drink with him; he'd actually attempted to give Burns the benefit of the doubt, in spite of all he'd heard. His mind wandered to the evening before.

\------------------------  
THE DAY BEFORE

"Colonel Burns," a voice called out from the entrance to the Officer's Club. "I wasn't expecting you'd be getting here so early." The group of surgeons turned to see Colonel Potter standing at the entrance to the club, his eyes fixed on all of them.

"I told you I'd be getting here at 0930 hours, Colonel," Frank explained in a whiny voice. "Remember? We talked about it on the phone…"

"You didn't account for the time difference," Colonel Potter explained. "Anyway, it's good you made it here safe and sound."

"Thank you, Sir," Frank replied, getting off of the bar stool and standing facing Potter. "Everything running smoothly?"

"Right now it's pretty laid-back, being as a ceasefire's been called."

"I know that," Frank replied snottily. "I took that into account when planning my trip. I didn't want to distract all of you from your patients."

"Couldn't be as bad as what happened to the patients on your operating table," Hawkeye jeered. B.J. barely stifled his laughter but Winchester was still undecided on whether he should outright loathe this pitiful excuse for a man. Frank could only glare silently at the dark-haired captain.

"Anyway, Colonel," Frank said, focusing again on his former c.o., "I'm mainly here for Major Houlihan. Where can I find her?"

Hawkeye crossed his fingers, hoping Colonel Potter wouldn't reveal her location. Of course, Tokyo was a big city—and Frank would be out of their hair….

"She's on r & r," Colonel explained. "Don't ask me where, because I'm not at liberty to tell you. She specifically told me that she wanted to be left alone."

"Since when does a colonel follow a major's orders?" Frank asked, his voice cranky. "As a superior officer to Major Houlihan, I order you to give up her location."

"You're still inferior to me," Potter scolded. "And not as convincing as Major Houlihan. I can't help you, Burns."

"Well, can you tell me if she and Pierce are married?"

Colonel Potter almost swallowed his own tongue at the silliness of Frank's statement.

"Married to who?" Potter replied, his laughter having become a coughing fit.

"Each other!" Frank raged. "Tell me, Colonel… Pretty please? Are they or aren't they?"

Potter glanced over at Hawkeye out of the corner of his eye. Did Pierce not realize that confessing to something like this in light of Frank's unstable state could really push the man over the edge? He must have paused for a moment too long because Frank yelled out, his face a shade of red.

"Oooh, you all make me sick!" Frank exclaimed. "Will no one _listen_ to me!"

"What are you talking about?" Hawkeye retorted. "No one _is_ listening to you."

With that, Frank slammed his hand down on the bar and stormed out of the Officers Club past Colonel Potter. Hawkeye stood up and faced the small group at the club, all of whom were now staring at the slammed door.

"I know everyone's been missing Frank, but you really have to aim more carefully next time."

\----------------------

Once Frank had left the premises and Potter was chatting at a distant table with Klinger, B.J. and Hawkeye sat down on either side of Charles.

"Why the hell is he here?" Hawkeye asked aloud, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "He escaped high and dry and is stationed back in the States, for God's sake. He must truly be out of his mind to come back here."

"I don't think he ever was in his right mind," B.J. commented. "Cheating on his wife, stealing a general's revolver, refusing to follow his Hippocratic oath and having the gall to question _our_ morality. The man never once owned up to his own shortcomings and blamed everyone else for his failures…"

"He definitely had enough failures to blame on everyone here several times over," Hawkeye remarked. "Why do you really think he's here?"

"I can't imagine he really cares for Margaret," B.J. began. "I mean, he had his chance with Major Houlihan when his wife wanted a divorce. I remember Margaret didn't talk to him for weeks after that happened. He was even wearing his wedding ring during that time, as if to remind himself of his vows."

"And then he was back on the old war horse again," Hawkeye said with a jeer. At the sight of an unsmiling Charles, he nudged the taller surgeon in the shoulder.

"Bet you can't wait 'til Frank leaves, eh?" he asked the major. "Then it'll be you against us again."

"The man is totally devoid of acumen," Charles grumbled. "His morality notwithstanding, it's difficult to watch the beaten being beaten."

B.J. stared over at the major, nudging him with his elbow.

"What do you recommend then, Chuckles? Are you going to sponsor him?"

Charles only shook his head, irritated by everything.

"I know," Hawkeye cut in, a big smile on his face, "let's do something nice for Frank."

"Really?" B.J. asked, his grin laced with confusion. "Like what?"

"Let's all get drunk with him—and let him get just a little drunker. Besides, I want to know what he's been up to lately."

"Is that your idea of a good time?" Charles muttered. "Getting a teetotaler drunk?"

"It sure is," Hawkeye replied. "And maybe Frank'll like it too."

\--------------------

The idea to invite Frank Burns to the tent had been an attempt to loosen the man up and get some laughs in the process. To Pierce and Hunnicutt, Burns' existence was a joke: his career, his marriage, even his appearance. The idea to spike a teetotaler's drink was uncalled for in civilian society, but this was a M.A.S.H. unit in Korea, no less, and Hawkeye Pierce had no need for proper social etiquette. Charles opened his eyes to see the mask being placed over his nose and mouth and he made a strange yowling sound.

"What'd you do that for?" Margaret asked Charles. "It's just procedure."

"You don't have to put me under," Charles panted, as the mask was lifted off his face. "I don't really feel anything anymore. The pain… is gone."

"Really?" Margaret said, gaping at the wound in his chest.

"Besides, how are you expected to operate in such… fog?" Charles asked weakly. "You should clear the air first."

"The air is clear," Potter corrected. "Couldn't be clearer."

Hunnicutt leaned forward and touched Charles's forehead. It was cold and clammy.

"What is it, Doctor?" Margaret questioned. "Is there something wrong?"

"I think Charles is going into shock," he muttered, his voice grave. "Check his blood pressure."

The group in the O.R. stared quietly as Margaret measured Winchester's blood pressure.

"It's fifty over twenty-five," she muttered, her voice filled with dread.

"We need two more units of whole blood and levophed, stat," Pierce announced. "I'll go get it since I can't do much else, dammit."


	5. Invitation

The idea to get Frank Burns drunk the night of his arrival hadn't been the wisest thing for Pierce and Hunnicutt to plan. They sat in the Swamp that evening conjuring up questions they'd ask Frank, with B.J. more and more interested in the concoction Hawkeye had brought in only ten minutes before.

Finally, B.J. could take it no more and dipped his cup into the large open bowl of clear red liquid, his face scrunching up at the unexpectedly sweet taste. When his eyes reopened, he looked over at Hawkeye, who was extracting alcohol from the Swamp's still.

"What is this, Hawk?" B.J. asked him. "And where'd you get so much of it?"

"It's Shirley Temple," Hawkeye replied. "Frank's favorite."

"Is that what he was drinking in the Officers Club earlier? I hadn't realized it was alcoholic," B.J. said, clearly confused.

"Shirley Temples are nonalcoholic," Hawkeye explained. "And as for where I got it, I pooled the funds of my recently won poker pool and had Igor make up two gallons worth of it."

"What's in it?

"Ginger ale, lime juice and a pinch of grenadine," Hawkeye replied. "I gotta admit, his love for Shirley Temples may be the only sweet thing about Frank."

"How are you going to convince him to come over?" Hunnicutt asked. "Sure, you can bring a horse to water, but it's hard to make him drink."

"Well, if Frank's as _despondent_ as Charles seems to think he is, it should be no problem," Hawkeye explained. "Besides, there must not be too much going on in his life for him to come back over to Korea voluntarily."

\----------------------

Frank jumped at the knock on his door. He'd gone to Margaret's tent to find it to have been locked with a padlock, a padlock that wasn't hers. Since that unhappy discovery, he had been sitting quietly inside the V.I.P. tent when his silence had been greatly disturbed by some unknown person.

"Who is it?" he called out, not bothering to stand up.

"It's Hawkeye," the person responded. "Just wondering what your plans for the evening are."

"What evening?" Frank huffed. "It's 2100 hours already. It should be lights out right now, if the 4077th had an ounce of discipline."

Hawkeye silently sighed outside the door. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the statement.

"You're not married to Margaret, are you," Frank called out, his voice wavering but attempting to sound confident.

"You're still mulling over that?" Hawkeye replied, almost snorting with laughter. "Really, Frank, I thought you knew me better than that."

Frank stood up inside his tent, glaring at the door.

"Now just what is that supposed to mean?" he growled, putting his hands on his hips.

"Me and Margaret? Come on, Frank. Don't get me wrong; she's the best kisser I've ever known but she's too regular army for me. That and the fact that she latched onto your ferret face first; no offense, Frank."

A silence fell behind the door of the V.I.P. tent. Frank's voice trickled through quietly.

"So Margaret's not married?"

"Let me put it this way: she's as single as a male Siamese fighting fish."

Hawkeye could almost hear Frank smiling behind the door; now the man's guard was down.

"Listen, Frank; the ceasefire's supposed to be over tomorrow so we're gonna have one final hurrah. Care to join us?"

Frank's smile faded as he stared at the door, his face wrought with confusion.

"Who is _us_?" he asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Why, the Swampmen, of course, both past and present. It will include myself, Captain Hunnicutt, Major Winchester, and hopefully, a certain Lieutenant Colonel Burns."

"I'm busy," Frank scoffed, sitting back down on his bed. It squeaked rather loudly in protest and he flinched at the sound.

"I heard that, you naughty boy," Hawkeye replied, shaking his finger at the closed door. "Why didn't you tell me Margaret got back early?"

"What are you talking about?" Frank squawked, standing up again and squaring off with the closed door. "She's not here!"

"Just kidding, Frankie," Hawkeye replied. "So are you gonna come or not?"

"No. You can all just forget about it." With that, Frank crossed his arms across his chest.

"Aww, it won't be the same without you," Hawkeye added, laying it on thick.

"I'm not falling for it, Pierce," Frank replied in a dangerous voice. "Find someone else to pick on."

Just then the door to the V.I.P. tent was unceremoniously pushed open, making Frank gasp with surprise. Hawkeye stood in the doorway, having changed into his blue and white Hawaiian shirt. Frank felt a rush of relief that Pierce had changed out of his maroon bathrobe.

"How dare you barge in here without asking?" Frank scolded, gaping at the surgeon. "I didn't give you orders to enter my tent!"

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Frank," Hawkeye said, solemnly shaking his head. "Just come over for a bit—you can leave whenever you like."

"That's what you said when you tricked me into searching for Margaret's supposedly lost earring in the latrines," Frank responded. "To this day, I get an occasional whiff of that disgusting place."

"I gotta admit, you took a lot of crap from us, Frank. That day alone you took at least three hours' worth of it."

"Right—just buzz off, Pierce. Why didn't you send Hunnicutt over instead? Is it the fact that he has a conscience?"

"I'm sorry, Frank," Hawkeye replied simply, gathering every ounce of willpower to appear repentant. His face became grave as he extended his arms apologetically out to his sides. "I really am. I mean, I just told you Margaret's single. If that isn't a kind of apology I don't know what is."

Frank's expression softened drastically then as he dropped his arms to his sides, staring at Hawkeye. Was that hope Hawkeye saw on Frank's face?

"Really?"

"Yeah, Frank. Why don't we just let bygones be bygones and have some laughs in the Swamp?"

"Of course you three will be drinking," Frank muttered. "And the laughs will be on me."

"Would you rather we three be laughing and the drinks will be on you?"

"Same difference," Frank huffed, crossing his arms again. "And as you know, I don't drink. Especially not that poison you call gin."

"We don't expect you to drink," Hawkeye replied. "Not only that, but we'll do plenty of cutting into Winchester in the meantime—did you know that his nickname around here is Major Ego?"

"Why's that?" Frank asked, trying to smile but not understanding why exactly he should.

"Because he's the most arrogant person on the face of this planet," Hawkeye explained. He watched Frank's smile slowly grow, and continued explaining. "He thinks that working at a M.A.S.H. is below him and believes that every time he touches a scalpel, a miracle is nigh."

"Ha! Is that really true?" Now Frank was smiling as widely as he had in his wedding video.

"Would I lie to you? Now, every time you touch a scalpel, an angel gets its wings."

Frank's face fell at the comment, and Hawkeye felt a tinge of remorse at crushing Frank's frail ego so easily. He'd forgotten how easy it was to tick off Frank and ruin his day. Poking fun at Winchester was far more satisfying, because Charles still retained his ego in the process, as well as often having a comeback ready. Insulting Frank was like playing a volleyball game with a team on only one side of the net.

"Anyway, so will you come over?" Hawkeye asked, his face pouty. "Pretty please?"

Frank paused for a moment, biting his lower lip with trepidation. Finally he found his voice.

"No, and that's final!" Now Frank's arms were crossed once again. "Just leave me alone, Pierce."

"Fine, fine," Pierce said, throwing his arms up in surrender. "It's just a shame that I already paid for all those Shirley Temples and now they're gonna go to waste." At that he turned to leave. "See you later, Frank."

Hawkeye counted the seconds of silence as he slowly stepped towards the door of the V.I.P. tent. _One… Two… Three…_

"Wait—did you just say Shirley Temples?" Frank murmured with disbelief, staring at the back of Hawkeye's head.

When Hawkeye turned around, he was grinning broadly.

"You heard right, Frank. A whole punch bowl full. Free for the drinking."

Frank shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, eyeing Hawkeye suspiciously.

"Does Major Winchester like Shirley Temples?"

"Nope," was the curt response. Frank reached an arm up to rub the back of his neck. Self-consciousness was practically dripping down his skin. Hawkeye felt the need to leave the tent as soon as was possible. Frank was a bad guy, an unlikeable person that Hawkeye never did warm to or ever wanted to warm to, and yet his current state was almost pitiable.

"Why did you get them, then?" Frank asked, his voice pinched-sounding. "I know you and Hunnicutt would rather die than be caught drinking them."

Hawkeye felt a pang of guilt that faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"Because I knew you liked it," he responded. "So, are you gonna join us or what?"

Frank froze in place, still suspicious.

"This isn't like you."

"I know," Hawkeye said with a shrug. "Right now I'm beside myself with confusion."

"Why are you doing this?" Frank huffed. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Because I won't hesitate to write you and your comrades up for attempting to embarrass a superior officer."

"Believe me, Frank; you don't need our help for that."

"I knew it!" Frank shrieked. "This is your way of getting back at me for my being transferred stateside and promoted! Now _you_ , you've been a captain as long as I can remember!"

"As long as I can remember, too," Hawkeye replied. "Even my obstetrician called me Captain."

"Ha! You weren't born; you were _hatched_!"

"Now, Frank," Hawkeye scolded, "did you fall asleep one too many times in your embryology courses? I do have a belly button, you know."

"That's just sick!" Frank replied, his voice high-pitched and agitated. "You take that back!"

"Take _what_ back? I'll tell you what I _can't_ take back—the Shirley Temples. Guess I'll dump 'em out by the minefield. We don't want any more red pools on our compound."

"Now, wait a second, Pierce," Frank replied. "If I come over there, could you be nice to me?"

Hawkeye was flabbergasted.

"What?"

"Just this once. I'm only going to be here long enough to talk to Margaret again. This'll probably be the last time you'll see me. Can you just forget about how much you hate me, for a little while?"

"What about you, Frank?" Hawkeye retorted. "The hatred you have for me is as plain as the chin on your—no, wait; that's a bad example—it's as plain as the nose on your face."

Frank rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.

"Fine, Frank," Hawkeye said, sticking his hand out. "If the U.S. and Korea can have a ceasefire, so can we."

Frank shook Hawkeye's hand, almost giddy now.

"And the best part is, neither of us is a Red!"

Hawkeye stopped moving his hand, his eyes narrowed in challenge at Frank.

"You sure about that? I mean, you _do_ like Shirley Temples, Frank, and they're redder than red."

"Well, _you_ were the one to treat the North Koreans before our own boys, Commie lover! You're the one to push our young brave soldiers out of the way to pull those yellow devils through to the O.R.!"

"Right," Pierce deadpanned, clearly agitated. "Now, you, on the other hand, made it hard for anyone you treated to pull through."

"Now, see here! You told me you weren't going to—"

"There's a difference, Frank. I was joking. You weren't. I'm not going to stand here and take this off you."

Frank shifted uncomfortably, reaching into his trouser pocket and glancing at his pocket watch. Hawkeye saw the item and his face darkened.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing with my watch, Frank? My dad gave me that watch! Give it back!"

Frank hesitated, looking rather sheepish for a split-second. Hawkeye held out his hand, glaring at Burns all the while.

"If you don't give it back right now, Frank, I'm gonna clock you."

"I'd like to see you try! I'm a Lieutenant Colonel—"

"—with a black eye!"

Frank stuck out his tongue. This utterly infuriated Hawkeye, whose eyes were wide and teeth bared.

"Gimme my watch, Frank!"

He lunged for the item but Frank pulled it away.

"It's mine!" Frank shouted back. "It's going back to home to Fort Wayne with me and that's that!"

"You won't need it after I make your nose into a sundial!"

Frank looked a little too happy with himself, and all of a sudden Pierce's arm was swinging towards him, his fist clenched. The lieutenant colonel promptly fell to the ground at the sight, hearing Hawkeye's fist strike the flue pipe of the furnace in the center of the tent. Hawkeye yelped at the unexpected hardness of the metal on his closed fist, and immediately clutched his hurt hand to his chest. Frank gaped at him from his position on the floor.

"Don't think I won't try to punch you with the other fist," Hawkeye warned. "Gimme my watch."

Frank stood up haltingly, avoiding eye contact with Pierce. He'd been punched by Pierce before and had gotten his share of black eyes. Pierce certainly did not pull his punches. At the very real fear he felt about Hawkeye's consistency in following through with his threats, Frank pulled the watch and chain out of his pocket and held it in his hand.

"Oh," Frank said, pretending to examine the watch casing. "I hadn't seen the little initials there—B—F—P. Huh, that's you. Honestly, it looked an awful lot like the one Mother gave me."

"If you have to begin a sentence with the word honestly, then you're not being honest," Pierce hissed, grabbing the chain off of the man with his undamaged hand.

"You, uh, aren't going to say anything about this little misunderstanding to anybody, are you?" Frank muttered. "It was an easy mistake to make, picking up the wrong watch."

Hawkeye's smile was grim.

"Honestly, I won't."

Frank blanched.

"Wait—you just said that—"

"It was a joke, Frank. I'm not like you."

Frank sighed, a smile appearing on his face.

"Thank God for that."

Hawkeye was now smiling in kind, a grin so sickeningly sweet that it was in and of itself rather menacing.

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

\------------------------

"Where are you going?" Frank asked, as Hawkeye suddenly turned around and stalked out of the tent.

"To the x-ray room," Hawkeye replied. "It's probably better I hit the flue than your head, Frank. It's a lot less dense."

Frank puffed out his chest with self-importance.

"I should report you for attempting to strike a superior officer."

The grim smile he received in return was bone-chilling.

"Yeah, right after I report you for stealing my pocket watch. This little 'misunderstanding' as you call it will be your undoing. Still interested in pursuing your case?"

"Uh, not really," Frank replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

The discussion ended right there, with Hawkeye stalking off towards the hospital building and Frank standing confused at the entrance to the V.I.P. tent.

\---------------------------------------------------

While Charles lay wounded on the operating table, Hawkeye returned to the O.R. with the blood and the levophed tucked between his cast and his surgical gown. Charles could only lift his eyes enough to see Hawkeye's blurry figure as it approached him. Suddenly the P.A. blared out a message that thoroughly depressed all the people in the operating room.

" _Incoming wounded! All personnel report to triage!_ "

Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged a glance.

"Maybe there's not too many," B.J. said reassuringly.

" _We're in for the long haul!_ " the P.A. added.

"Damn," Hawkeye grumbled under his breath. "Lemme hook up this blood first, and I'll go out and start processing 'em," Hawkeye muttered.

B.J. nodded at Margaret to apply the anesthesia to Charles, who had fallen silent and was barely able to hold his eyes open. As Charles lost consciousness from the anesthetic mask, Hawkeye finished up with the blood IV. He quickly administered an IV of levophed to Charles in an attempt to get his blood pressure up. Though his right arm was incapacitated, Margaret noticed that he was still proficient with preparing the drug and needle.

"Take his blood pressure, Margaret," Hawkeye called out as he finished up. "And keep monitoring it." As Margaret measured Winchester's blood pressure, Hawkeye rapidly paced across the O.R., shaking his head all the while. "What the hell are we going to do when all the patients come flooding in?"

"We need to think of somethin'," Potter said. "You're one-handed, Pierce, and the only other hands we have are Hunnicutt and myself. I should get Klinger on the horn to send us a surgeon from the 8063rd—"

"There's not enough time," Hawkeye replied, his voice edgy. "We need help now." He glared down at his bandaged hand. "I'm an idiot for letting Frank get to me like he did."

"That's right," Potter responded, to watch Hawkeye grimace in horror. "We have Frank Burns."

"He's second to none," B.J. commented. "None being _no_ surgeon."

Colonel Potter shook his head.

"Now, I know he's incompetent, Hunnicutt, but he does still have use of both his hands—once we get him out of that straitjacket."

"As you already know, he got his caduceus taken away from him," Hawkeye cut in. "Who knows how long it's been since he's operated."

"Go get him, Pierce," Potter said. "We need all the help we can get right now."

"I'd argue against calling anything he does help," Hawkeye replied.

"That's an _order_ ," Potter responded gruffly. "He's gotta try to make up for what he did to Major Winchester. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to pre-book his cell in Leavenworth, or wherever they take people like him."


	6. Revelations

At precisely 2200 hours on the evening before his current stint in the O.R. working on Major Winchester, B.J. Hunnicutt opened the door of the Swamp to find Colonel Burns standing at the entrance—alone. It was very strange. As Burns entered the tent, B.J. gave him an overly enthusiastic salute. Rather than look offended at the clear goon of his overly military style, Frank saluted B.J. back, his mouth set in a kind of proud smile. Charles could only roll his eyes as he sat on his bed flipping through his book of poetry.

"Where's Hawkeye?" B.J. asked. "He was the one to go get you. I figured he'd have to tie you up to get you over here. Instead you arrive here on your own."

"I didn't see him," Frank said as innocently as possible, shrugging as he did so. "I just came over here to check in with you all."

"Right," B.J. said, his voice laced with doubt. "I don't know if you heard, but we have Shirley Temples."

"Oh, is that right?" Frank replied, obviously bluffing. "That's my favorite drink."

"Here's a glass for you," B.J. added, holding out a martini glass. He pointed towards the bowl of red liquid. "Just dip it in to the bowl."

"But my fingers will get sticky!" Frank whined.

"Remember the general's Colt 0.45? You already have sticky fingers, Frank," Hunnicutt remarked. Charles glanced over at Frank knowingly. The lieutenant colonel fidgeted but said nothing. Of course these hotshot surgeons all stuck together.

"Well, are you going to go for it or not?" B.J. asked.

Frank sighed and dipped the glass into the liquid and held it up to his lips. His eyes moved suspiciously from B.J. to Charles as he held the glass in front of his nose and sniffed its contents.

"It's poisoned, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. "You taste some first. I don't trust you two."

"Alright, Frank," B.J. murmured. He took a fresh glass and dipped it into the punch bowl. Immediately he brought it to his lips and drank the contents of the glass. "There," he grumbled, "Happy now?"

"I guess so," Frank replied. He began to drink the concoction and smiled. "It's even better than I remember!" he exclaimed. "The wife never let me drink the stuff!"

Charles looked over at Hunnicutt and then to Frank Burns, only to find that Frank had already finished off his first glass. Hunnicutt was still sipping his glass of gin and Charles was trying to pay as little attention as possible.

"You know what?" Frank said, stepping towards the makeshift still. "I think I need some of the real stuff. I have a lot to forget, you know."

"You mean, in addition to everything you learned in medical school?" Hunnicutt called out with a smile.

"And your manners," Charles said with a scoff.

"Will this stuff help me forget, Beej?" Frank asked, his face as innocent as a child's, as he pointed at the still.

"Not only that, but it'll kill the brain cells that were storing those memories," B.J. said with a smile. "I would tell you how it does that…. but I forgot."

Hunnicutt watched in wide-eyed wonder as Frank picked up a clear glass pitcher and began to fill it with the contents of the still. With a triumphant grin, Frank poured the entire pitcher into the punch bowl and took the first of many martini glasses full of the extra-spiked concoction.

"Lord. And I thought _Pierce_ had added a lot," Charles muttered under his breath.

\-------------------

Hawkeye Pierce opened the door of the Swamp to find Frank sitting on his bed, chatting animatedly with Hunnicutt, all while Winchester quietly fingered through his poetry books. It was clear that Burns was beginning to show the effects of the alcohol, because he was less high-strung and paranoid. Rather, now he was almost giddy. Surely Hawkeye hadn't spiked the concoction to be so immediately potent.

"Hey, Hawk; what happened to your hand?" Hunnicutt said, glancing up at his friend with surprise.

Hawkeye glanced down at the side profile of Frank Burns, who had instantly frozen at the mention of Pierce's name.

"Yes, where on Earth did you go for so long?" Charles commented, his eyes still buried in his book. "I hadn't realized it took forty minutes to traverse our humble little compound, even if there _are_ nurses to be had." When he hadn't heard a response within an appropriate amount of time, he looked up to see the reason for Pierce's tardiness.

"Oh," Charles muttered, staring at the casted hand. As he was about to speak, B.J. cut him off.

"What happened, Hawk?" B.J. asked insistently. The mustached doctor made a move to stand but was shushed back down by Hawkeye.

"Let's just say I fell," Pierce said, giving the top of Frank's head a quick glare.

"Liar!" Frank blurted. He looked up at Hawkeye sternly to see an ugly scowl.

"Oh, is that right?" Hawkeye replied. "Care to explain the whole story, then—hmm?"

Pierce patted the pocket containing the stolen item and Frank gulped, his anger completely dissipated.

"Ha," Frank said, noticing that three pairs of eyes were now locked on him. "It's nothing, really; I just figured you to be too… graceful to fall." He followed his statement up with a short burst of hyena-like laughter. Charles perceptibly cringed at the dissonant sound.

"Is anything broken?" Hunnicutt asked. "I'd guess yes, by the look of it."

"Three of my damn fingers," Hawkeye replied. "I don't know what I'm gonna do once this ceasefire is over and the casualties come rolling in again."

Frank took in a breath and held it, his eyes staring straight ahead and not daring to look up at Pierce.

"You'll be okay," B.J. answered. "Colonel Potter, Major Winchester, and I will perform the surgeries and you can assist for a while." For the moment, Hunnicutt avoided asking if Burns was involved with the incident. He already knew the answer.

"You and I both know that the casualties are always worse right after a ceasefire," Pierce replied, shaking his head. "It's like they have to make up for lost time."

"Colonel Potter is not going to be happy about this," Charles warned in a sing-song voice. "I'd suggest you figure out a means of hiding that rather crudely-wrapped display of your failure to control your emotions."

Frank laughed then, a tiny squeal that he immediately stifled with his hand.

"Frank Burns," Hawkeye spat. "What brings you to the Swamp?"

"Oh," he muttered, not looking up at Pierce, "I just wanted to drop in for a bit. It was getting a little dull over in my tent."

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" Hawkeye said with a sneer. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. " _My_ watch says it is."

"Let him stay a while, Pierce," Charles announced good-naturedly. "He was just beginning to loosen up a bit. Were you not just about to tell us about your job in the States?" Smiling, he poured himself a snifter of his cognac and quietly took a sip.

"Alcohol does not loosen me up, _Major_ ," Frank retorted, taking a moment to pour another martini glass full of spiked Shirley Temple down his gullet. "I have very high tolerance for alcohol and I know my limits."

"That's right—you stop yourself just before you start having fun," B.J. remarked. He was met with a little sneer from Frank.

"Unlike you bozos, I like to keep my wits about me. There's nothing worse than a man who's lost all control."

"I could say the same for a scalpel in your hands," Hawkeye remarked with a grin.

"Hey!" Frank retorted, his voice too loud, "I thought you promised to be nice to me! Don't you remember?"

Meanwhile, Hunnicutt shook his head, smiling to himself. When he'd first arrived at the Swamp, Frank had denied seeing Hawkeye. Frank was simply not smart enough to be a good liar.

"Of course I do, Frank," Hawkeye responded. "That was nice, compared to what I _could_ say about you."

"You said you were gonna make fun of Major Winchester. So—go ahead!"

Charles sneered at Hawkeye but that didn't sway him. Frank scooped out another drink and downed it in two gulps. In the ensuing silence, Hawkeye began to think aloud.

"Right, make fun of Charles. What can I say about Charles? Hmm…."

"What about the whole newspaper thing?" B.J. commented.

"Ah, yes," Hawkeye said with a big smile, explaining the story to a blitzed Frank Burns who stared up at him like a giddy child. Pierce gestured to Winchester, watching Frank's eyes follow his hand. "Charles here turned the whole camp against him when he accused someone of stealing one of his Boston Globe newspapers! We ended up taking every single item of his out of the Swamp and hiding it from him."

B.J. cut in, his voice full of glee. "He had to run across the compound with only a Boston Globe covering his Boston globes!"

"Ha—very clever pun," Charles interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That reminds me—can either of you tell the remainder of your anecdotes in another language? Korean, perhaps?"

"I'm only fluent in pig latin," Hawkeye admitted. "Wait a minute—you know it better than I do. Speaking of which, _I-way is ank-Fray oh-say unk-dray_?"

At his understanding of the question, Charles paused a moment, looking amused. He took another sip of cognac and smiled knowingly at Hawkeye.

"Pierce, why bother embellishing your language when it was you who correctly informed me of the man's inability to comprehend plain English? He dumped a pitcher of gin into the Shirley Temple."

"Why are you moving around so much, Hawk?" Frank asked, blinking exaggeratedly as he completely ignored what had just been said about him. His speech was slurred and every movement of his body and face was exaggerated as he spoke to Pierce. "Stay still, will ya?"

"I haven't moved," Hawkeye replied. Charles was blown away by this strange camaraderie Frank Burns was now expressing in regards to Pierce, who looked as if he could start yelling at the man at any moment.

"Right," Frank replied, clearly disbelieving Pierce. "What else did you do to him? That's mild compared to what you two did to—"

"Oh, we couldn't forget to tell him about Charles's _double-agent_ days," B.J. reminded the dark-haired doctor. A wave of recognition came to Hawkeye.

"Oh, yeah—there was the time he tried to pit us against Margaret, and Margaret against us. He tried to be on both sides, riling us and Margaret to keep pranking each other. We really got him that time—made him believe that Margaret upped the ante by sending a letter to Beej's wife about a supposed affair they were having, as a way of getting back at our last prank. I think we scared the crap out of Charles, because he ended up confessing his dastardly plans and apologizing like it was Judgment Day."

"Margaret had an affair with B.J.?" Frank gasped, attempting to stand but failing to gain the balance to do so. "I had no idea she was such a... floozy!"

"No," B.J. cut in, his expression serious. "We were trying to fool Charles. It was a joke."

"Oh," Frank said, drinking yet another Shirley Temple. "Well, what about his being called Major Ego? What did he do to earn that nickname?"

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. He had told Frank earlier about that in the V.I.P. tent, but perhaps Frank wanted to hear about it from B.J. as well. Certainly Frank didn't have any tact to ask such a question in front of the very subject of the question.

"I am sitting right here, for your information," Charles responded irritably. Hawkeye and Hunnicutt barely suppressed their laughter. Charles continued to speak. "I earned the name Major Ego because I am in fact well aware of my positive attributes, which is not a crime. I'll bet your buddies Pierce and Hunnicutt here couldn't name one practical thing they are better at than I am."

"That's easy," B.J. said with a shrug. "We're better at practical jokes."

"I can agree with that," Charles replied languidly. "You're both practically jokes."

"Touché," Hawkeye remarked. "But enough about Charles. How 'bout we talk about what you've been up to, Frank? Besides calling the kettle black?"

"Ehh," Frank said, waving his hand in dismissal. "There's no up about it; it's all been pretty much downhill for months now."

"Oh really?" Hawkeye replied. "Well, what does your wife think of your being here?" Hawkeye asked him, smiling at Frank even though his question was dead serious. "Does she know about your coming here for Margaret?"

"My wife? Ha!" Frank blurted, his burst of laughter reminiscent of a donkey's bray. "Louise left me! I haven't seen her or the girls for almost six months now! And you know what?" He smiled triumphantly, quickly downing yet another glass of spiked Shirley Temple. "I don't miss her at all!"

"Is that true, Frank?" Hunnicutt chimed in, his brow knitted with concern. It was enough to cause even Charles to look up from his snifter of cognac.

"Would I lie to you?" Frank slurred back. "Actually, yes, I would."

"Where did your caduceus pin go?" Hawkeye asked, pointing at Frank's empty lapel. "Did your wife take it with her?"

"As if I'd let her!" Frank replied. "I lost it!" At that he swung his not-quite empty glass around, ignoring the droplets of Shirley Temple that spilled onto his clothing and onto the floor.

"Where?" B.J. asked. "Let me guess; it's in the same place your mind and your respect are."

"No, you nitwit; at the VA Hospital! I think Louise was fooling around with their board of directors. They just up and took it away from me!"

"Really, without any explanation?" B.J. inquired. "I'm sure they told you why they took it."

"They said it was because I bumbled one too many times! Can you imagine? The _nerve_ of them to say such a thing! I'm the best surgeon they've got."

"God save Indiana vets," Hawkeye muttered to Hunnicutt. Upon receiving a smile from his friend, the dark-haired doctor turned to Frank. "So what _are_ you doing here, Frank? I can see that you aren't here to help out the M.A.S.H."

"Actually, Hawkeye, his _not_ being able to help out is the most help he could ever give the 4077th," B.J. remarked.

"I am here to win back Margaret," Frank explained matter-of-factly. "I'm now officially divorced and I can now pursue Margaret with a clean conscience."

"As opposed to your earlier pursuit of her with a dirty conscience," B.J. said with a snicker.

"I resent that!" Frank huffed.

"But what if she says no, Frank?" Hawkeye remarked. "She isn't the Margaret you left behind more than a year ago."

"I didn't leave her! She left me! I, on the other hand, was taken against my will!"

"Did you hear Hawkeye just now?" Hunnicutt said. "Major Houlihan's not the same."

"What?" Frank blanched. "Did she lose everything in the divorce?" His voice trailed off with uncertainty. "Surely she didn't lose _everything_ …?"

"No," Hawkeye responded, to watch Frank loudly sigh with relief. "Geez, Frank, can't you hide the fact that you're just after her money?"

"That was just with Louise. Margaret's different—she's my best affair. Nancy and Gertrude couldn't hold a candle to her. Neither could Betsy, for that matter," Frank insisted.

"Geez, I can't understand why Louise would ever want to leave you, Frank," B.J. deadpanned, his statement dripping with sarcasm. "Sounds like you're quite the husband."

"That's what I said!" Frank replied, nodding his head in agreement at the remark. "Anyway, if I can't get Margaret back, it's curtains for me."

The three other surgeons in the tent glanced at each other. Frank scooped out another glass of Shirley Temple and downed it in one gulp.

"What do you mean by that?" Hawkeye carefully asked. "I don't think Margaret is willing to give you her curtains. They really play up the hominess factor of her tent."

"It's a figure of speech," Frank said with an inappropriate smile. "If she refuses me, she'll be sorry."

"Sorry about what?" Hawkeye replied. "That she hadn't done it sooner?"

"Hardy har har," Frank said, unamused. "She'll be sorry when I blow my brains out."

\------------------

Charles choked on his cognac and coughed several times in the ensuing silence, gaping at the man with the silver oak leaf. Frank was clearly blitzed and was speaking as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather. On one hand, Hunnicutt was unsettled by Frank's admission, and on the other hand, Hawkeye was irritated by it.

"I would argue that your brains were already gone, the way you're talking, Frank," Hawkeye muttered, shaking his head. "You can't be serious."

"I have nowhere to live," Frank explained matter-of-factly. "I have no one to stay with. I've got no money…."

"How did you get over here then? Plane tickets to Korea aren't free unless you're being shipped here to fight or stitch up the people who fight."

"I just told you I have no money! _You_ figure it out!" Frank scoffed.

"Did you get it from your mother?"

"She's dead."

Hawkeye's eyes went wide.

"When?"

"Does it matter? All that matters is the only person who favored me over all others is now dead."

"Well, didn't you get anything from her estate?"

"She left everything to my brother."

A silence fell over the Swamp, until B.J. interrupted it with a question.

"How did you get over here, Frank?"

"What?" Frank squawked. "Are you my mother now? It's none of your beeswax!"

"Was it legal?" Hawkeye remarked.

"Of course it was legal. I pawned my stuff. You know, just the usual: jewelry,watches, guns, surgical instruments… prescriptions…"

"Ha," Charles scoffed. "Your perception of legality is far removed from that of the civilized world. I am loathe to have heard your explanation in its entirety."

"Don't give me that baloney!" Frank cried, pointing a finger at Charles. " _You_ try living with no money!"

"Perish the thought!" Charles exclaimed, placing his palm on his chest.

"Now, where's Margaret?" Frank asked, fidgeting as he sat on Hawkeye's uncomfortable mattress.

"So you're going to use Margaret to have a place to live, if not for her money. That's not right either," B.J. cautioned.

"I love Margaret!" Frank cried. "And I know she loved me, before that brute Colonel Penobscot came along. I'll win her back and we'll live happily ever after!"

"This isn't some kind of fairy tale," Hawkeye warned. "This is real life. Margaret is stuck over here in Korea until Uncle Sam says she can go home. You're AWOL from your post in Indiana. There's no way it'll work between you two unless the heavens part and messengers from the sky bring forth—"

" _Attention all personnel: the ceasefire has ceased to exist. And on that same vein—incoming wounded!_ "

"—more casualties," Hawkeye added with a sigh of disgust. "Guess that's it for the party, eh?"

Charles looked at him with disdain.

"Party? Not hardly. More like a dirge. Please warn me well in advance the next time you plan one of these so I can be anesthetized first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments, KK, periodictableofgayness, and unicorn7! I very much appreciate your feedback!


	7. When One Hand Is Better Than Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for leaving me some feedback, Unicorn7! And now, for chapter 7!

B.J. shook his head as he recalled Charles's dry witticisms, namely, his request to be put under. Less than 24 hours later and Charles was indeed anesthetized. It figured that on a day of heavy casualties the pressure would have to be on him. The fact was that Charles was a good friend of his made it more difficult to handle the facts that his wound was potentially fatal and that he might not be able to save him.

"Sponge," B.J. instructed his nurse. Colonel Potter now had his first patient in front of him, a corporal with a head wound. Two more patients were wheeled in to the two surgeonless operating tables.

"Are we prioritizing these correctly?" B.J. called out to Klinger, feeling overwhelmed at the dire-looking soldiers the corporal had brought in all prepped for surgery. "Winchester can't operate, so don't send anymore over to his table."

"After this is all over," Potter grumbled, "Pierce is gonna get a good chewing out from me. If I'd been caught slugging my peers, my dad would take me out to the woodshed. Pierce is damn irresponsible."

Suddenly blood spurted from a nicked vessel in Winchester's chest, generating a curved line of blood down B.J.'s surgical gown. B.J. grabbed some more sponges and pushed them into the cavity so that he could locate the vessel.

"His blood pressure's falling, Doctor," Margaret announced, her voice full of fear. "It's down to 60 over 35."

"Nurse—clamp!" B.J. exclaimed, to be handed the clamp immediately.

"Need some help over there, B.J.?" Potter called out.

"You have enough problems," B.J. responded with a quick exhalation of breath. "Where the hell is Hawkeye? At least he could be helping me with one of his hands."

"No need to curse, Hunnicutt," Potter muttered. "All in due time. He has to get that straitjacket off Burns. That may take a while."

"I don't have a while, Colonel!" B.J. exclaimed. "I'll never forgive myself if I lose him!"

"Why do you say that? It's a pretty serious wound, Hunnicutt. You can't put such a burden on your soul."

"Maybe all our jokes finally got to Frank," Hunnicutt murmured. "If that's what happened, then I'm partly to blame for all that's happened in the past two days."

"Not completely," Potter admitted. "We'd still be down one surgeon. Pierce would've broken his fingers anyway." The commanding officer of the 4077th couldn't help but recall the first time he'd seen Pierce's hand in the cast when they'd had incoming casualties at 2330 hours the night before.

\----------------------------------

"What in the love of Louisa May Alcott did you do to your hand, Pierce?"

Potter could only stare at Hawkeye's bandaged hand, as he, Winchester, Hunnicutt, and Pierce stood in the scrub sink room. It was almost midnight, and yet the wounded arrived in droves.

"Do you really need to ask?" Hawkeye replied with a wince. "It was a mistake, Colonel."

"Don't tell me you slugged Burns," Potter grumbled. "He's never gonna get out of our hair if he gets on your back about this. I haven't seen him since last night—is it real bad?"

"I in fact did not touch Frank Burns," Hawkeye said matter-of-factly. He watched Colonel Potter sigh, just as B.J. and Charles turned to stare at him with confusion.

"Then what was the mistake?"

Hawkeye smiled.

"My mistake was that I missed him—and hit the flue pipe instead."

"Oh," Potter murmured, his face troubled as he shook his head. "That's bad business, Pierce. What were you fixing to slug him over?"

"Let's just say it's the reason he's not going to pursue it any further."

"Are you saying what you did was justified?" Potter questioned. "Never mind. When it comes to him, it more than likely is. So he's not gonna try to report you or some other malarkey?"

"Nope," Pierce said with utter confidence.

"I bet I know the reason for your little outburst, Pierce," Charles commented. "May I venture a guess?"

"Go ahead. And no, it's not because he's a vile person. Though he is, of course."

Charles's face was confident, a little smile playing across his lips.

"Does it have anything to do with a pocket watch, by any chance?"

Hawkeye could only gape at Winchester in utter surprise.

"How did you know that?"

Hunnicutt and Potter exchanged looks of incredulity.

"He was digging through your footlocker and claimed it as his own," Charles explained. "His poor attempt to justify the initials on the case was the linchpin."

"Are you telling me Burns tried to steal something from you?" Potter asked, his voice a low growl.

"When were you gonna tell me, Charles?" Hawkeye replied, ignoring Potter for the moment. "I could've sucker-punched him and given him no time to get out of the way first."

"Wait," Potter interrupted, "Hold on just a second here, boys. Frank Burns is a thief?"

"Add it to his laundry list of shortcomings, weaknesses, and failings," Hunnicutt remarked. "Don't worry, Colonel; he has enough problems on his own."

"Yes, it sounds like simply returning to his day-to-day life in the States is punishment in and of itself," Charles muttered. "He was probably planning to pawn your pocket watch, Pierce. He must be truly destitute to purloin such a piece; what are brass cogs worth these days, anyway?"

"Nothing to him," Hawkeye remarked with a shrug. "He can't even tell time. Speaking of which, when is Frank planning on leaving, Colonel?"

"Hopefully before Margaret gets back," Potter replied. "I don't even want to deal with the aftermath once she's through with him. But anyway, Pierce, I'm disappointed in you for letting Frank Burns get you worked up like that. In a way, he's won."

Pierce said nothing, instead holding his usable hand and arm under the scrub sink spigot.

"What do you think you're doing?" Potter exclaimed. "You can't operate like that!"

"I can operate better with no fingers than Frank can with all his fingers."

B.J. spoke up. "I second that, Colonel."

"That may be true, but Pierce, you need both your hands to operate. You'll have to assist for a while until you get some use back in those fingers."

Hawkeye hadn't expected that response, and it showed on his face. He looked much like a pouting child.

"But they need me, Colonel."

"Those wounded boys are the ones that have to suffer for your dim-witted decision to slug Frank Burns, and you're just gonna have to live with that."

\--------------------------------

Glancing nervously over at Winchester's still form on the operating table, Colonel Potter remembered Frank Burns's lack of aiding in the O.R. when they'd received casualties the night before. He shook his head as he continued operating on his patient.

\-------------------------------

"Lap sponge."

B.J. asked for the material as he glanced to his side at Hawkeye, who handed him the item and repeated its name to him. They stood over the body of a sergeant who happened to get too close to an explosion.

"Wow, this guy's so full of lead an x-ray'd be useless," B.J. muttered, shaking his head. "I'm gonna need more hands for this one."

"Unfortunately, I'm tied up at the moment," Winchester called out. "My patient cannot wait a moment longer for his circulatory system to be a closed one once again."

"No can do at the moment, B.J.," Potter chimed in. "I'll be done in about five minutes or so."

Hunnicutt let out a sigh.

"His body can't wait that long."

"Here, lemme help," Pierce offered. "I've got one useful hand."

"Well, that's one more than Frank ever had," B.J. remarked. "But are you any good with your left hand?"

"If you hold a mirror up to it, it'll become my right hand," Hawkeye replied.

"Doctor," Hunnicutt's nurse called out, "his blood pressure's falling, sixty-five over forty."

"Damn it," B.J. muttered. "Get me another unit of whole blood over here. I need to buy some time."

A tense silence fell over the room.

"Where's Burns?" Colonel Potter called out. "Can't he operate?"

"Good one, Colonel," B.J. replied, smiling for a moment.

"I'm serious, Hunnicutt; where is Frank Burns? The man _did_ go to medical school."

"Allegedly," B.J. remarked.

"I'm betting he spent most of that time paying people to take his tests," Pierce remarked. "Beej's patient's got a better chance of surviving without Frank; believe me."

"Maybe so, but where is he? You'd think he'd want to show off all the new techniques he's learned stateside."

"Frank is sans caduceus, Colonel," Hunnicutt said. "He's now no better than a snake at handling a needle."

"Wow, so he's better than he used to be," Pierce joked. Colonel Potter was still questioning Frank's absence from the O.R.

"Did he misplace it or something? We can overlook that for the sake of the casualties."

"It was taken away from him," Hunnicutt explained, watching his nurse suction out the thoracic cavity. Still he could not find the source of the bleeding. "I'll need a unit of whole blood here, O positive," he said to Father Mulcahy, who was standing off to the side.

"Are you telling me someone finally caught wind of Frank's ineptitude?" Potter asked, his eyes wide. "Never thought I'd see the day."

\-------------------------

Regardless of how Potter normally felt about Frank Burns' skills as a surgeon, these were now extraordinary circumstances, what with Winchester and Pierce incapacitated. Frank Burns needed to do his best work to make up for all the trouble he'd caused since arriving at the 4077th.

"Welcome back, Frank," Hawkeye announced as he escorted the red-faced former surgeon into the O.R., his cheek already showing the signs of a bruise. Pierce brought him to his operating table and gestured to the wounded man. "Here's your patient."

"I can't do this!" Frank cried. "Don't make me do this!"

"Was that a _no_ I heard from you, Burns?" Potter's voice floated melodically. "I guess you'd like to be in that straitjacket up at the front instead, eh?"

"You wouldn't!" Frank exclaimed, his face reddening even more. "What good would I be there?"

"You'd make a great rocket," Pierce remarked. He was met with a glower from Frank and grinned mischievously at him. "You're perfect for the job, Frank. You already have the _red glare_."

Suddenly Frank caught a glimpse of the unconscious Major Winchester being operated on by Captain Hunnicutt. He immediately looked ashamed, and he gestured towards B.J. "Will Major Winchester be alright?" he asked in a thin voice.

"Can't say," B.J. replied impatiently. "Get to it, will ya? We're down two surgeons thanks to you."

"But I'm no longer certified!" Frank retorted. "It would be illegal to let a non-surgeon operate on a patient!"

"That never stopped you before," Hawkeye muttered with a shrug.

Potter shook his head helplessly at his patient's dire condition. "Of all times, we gotta be down two surgeons right now! I don't think my patient's gonna pull through this…."

Frank could only gape at him silently. Potter frowned at the lieutenant colonel.

"What are you doing still standing there, Burns? Quit rubbernecking and do your job," Potter growled. "You got your nurses there—get operating! You didn't bother helping us yesterday, so now's your chance!"

Frank stood sweating before the patient that had been thrust upon him, an American G.I. with a bad gut wound. He stared down at the bloody mess before him and felt ill.

"I can't do this," he muttered to his nurse. "Have you ever opened before?"

"I'm new here," she replied apologetically.

"Damn it!" Frank blurted. "Why am I always surrounded by idiots?"

"What are you talking about, Frank? There aren't any mirrors in here," Hawkeye retorted.

Frank didn't reply.

"I don't see you working over there, Burns," Potter commented in a dangerous tone. "If you don't start operating this minute, you're gonna be the defendant in a military tribunal."

"For what?" Frank blurted. "It was that North Korean that shot Major Winchester, not me."

"Are you seriously trying to blame that guy?" Hawkeye raged. "He saved your damn life and you're _condemning_ him?"

"Pipe down, Pierce," Potter called out. "Burns needs to get his confidence back before he's gonna sink his scalpel into that patient. You're not helping matters any."

Frank huffed as he took the scalpel from his nurse. Gulping, he gingerly sunk the scalpel into the flesh of the anesthetized patient and nothing bad happened. He smiled to himself at the sight of his small success, but his happiness was interrupted by Hunnicutt's nervous voice.

"I need you over here, Hawk," B.J. called out anxiously. "I got the bleeder clamped off but I think there's another bleeder that's behind his lung."

"His blood pressure's still down, B.J." Margaret worriedly informed him. "And his pulse is weaker."

"Nurse—a glove," Hawkeye said. He was suited up with a rubber glove on his left hand and immediately bent over the operating table. There was way too much blood in Winchester's chest cavity to have the damage be in one blood vessel alone. "Beej, we're gonna need more help here," he muttered. "This doesn't look good."

"Colonel Potter; you got a minute?" B.J. called out, his voice laced with impatience. "We can't stop the bleeding in Charles's chest."

"I've gotta find the bleeder in this patient first. His blood pressure's been bottomed out since he was carted in here. He's holding on by a thread—3-0 silk, to be exact."

"Sponges, nurse. A whole handful," Hawkeye muttered, holding out his good hand. He and B.J. packed them into the wound site, but the blood kept coming.

"We're losing him," Margaret cried, having monitored his vitals. "Do something!"

"Calm down, Margaret," B.J. said soothingly. He looked down at the wound again and could no longer see the sponges in Charles's chest, for they were now covered with crimson liquid. The veins in his neck stuck out as he lifted his head to the ceiling, his face a picture of gravity. "Oh, God, don't let us lose him!"


	8. Meeting Margaret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big mistake here, guys! I had chapters 8 and 9 ready the last time I posted and I accidentally posted 9 first! So please read this one (chapter 8) again because it is a DIFFERENT chapter 8! And then read chapter 9!

CHAPTER 8: Meeting Margaret

The morning of Charles's shooting, the jeep arrived on the compound just as Frank was striding from the V.I.P. tent to the mess tent at around 7 am. He'd neglected to heed the announcement on the P.A. while in the Swamp last night, trudging tiredly back to the V.I.P. tent as Pierce, Hunnicutt, and Winchester sprinted into action; after all, he was no longer a certified surgeon. The blonde hair, the woman's figure; it was Margaret in the jeep! And unlike those three times before while in Seoul, Frank knew that this was Margaret. The jeep stopped in front of the building housing the operating room and the driver turned off its engine.

"Margaret," Frank called out, his voice almost a whimper. Much to his utter joy, the woman in the jeep turned her head to look at him. It _was_ Margaret! It really was her! His heart leapt in his chest; his savior was here!

"Major Burns?" she said in a questioning tone. So that was why Colonel Potter had sent her away. She'd only returned a day and a half early because she'd heard of the ceasefire ending and now Frank Burns was standing before her like a ghost from the past. Frank jogged towards the jeep as she stepped out of it, his lipless maw curled into a strangely feline smile.

"It's Lieutenant Colonel now," he replied, grinning gleefully. "I forgive you for forgetting. You look even better than you did the last time I saw you, if that's possible."

"That's because it wasn't me you saw," she said with a little grin, remembering the three incidents he'd mistook someone else to be her. It had been simultaneously flattering and troubling, hearing about Frank's bout of insanity after she'd tied the knot with Donald Penobscott.

"Oh, you're just as lovely as ever, Margaret," Frank whined, now only an arm's length away from her. "May I hug you?"

Margaret eyed the man from head to toe. He was wearing his lieutenant colonel's uniform and yet looked just as pitiful as the moment they said goodbye. He certainly hadn't gained any weight, and in fact he looked at least twenty pounds thinner than he'd been at the 4077th. It was strange in light of the inedible food he'd had to eat in Korea as opposed to his wife's home cooking upon his return to Indiana. His eyes, her favorite feature on him, were as blue as ever and heartbreakingly sad as he waited for her reply.

"We're not alone, Frank," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, taken aback by his desperate behavior.

"Please," he begged, the pitch of his voice noticeably higher. Why in the world was Frank putting on such a show, especially _in front of another person?_ Margaret glanced over at the driver of the jeep, a sergeant who had turned his head not to blatantly watch the exchange but he was certainly listening intently in the meantime. She watched the driver's shoulders stiffen in the icy silence, and finally he turned to look at the pair.

"Driver, get the major's bags out of the jeep and be on your way! That's an order!" Frank suddenly commanded. Margaret jumped at the abrupt change in Frank's demeanor and watched the driver sigh with disappointment.

Margaret stood unsure of what to do as the driver removed Margaret's suitcases from the jeep and placed them on the ground. After he'd driven off, she was left standing across from Frank Burns on a seemingly empty compound. She knew very well that if she gave Frank Burns an inch, he'd take a mile; however, they were standing in the center of the compound and he wasn't one for blatant public displays of affection. Their entire relationship had been cloaked in secrecy. Surely he wouldn't try to accost her out here…

"Fine," she said in a deadpan voice, successfully holding back any emotion she felt at seeing him here. Quivering like an excited puppy, Frank took the extra stride needed to be nearer to her and wrapped his arms around the head nurse of the 4077th. His arms hugged her tightly, so tightly that it was difficult to breathe. Her arms, which had been haphazardly around his back, fell to her sides as she began an attempt to end the embrace. "Alright, Frank," she muttered.

"I have more than a year of hugs to make up for in this hug, Margaret. Bear with me, darling."

She felt his mouth nuzzling into her neck, his hands wandering out of the gentlemanly zone.

"Major— _Colonel_ Burns," she huffed, "that's quite enough. What are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you stationed back in Indiana at some VA hospital?"

He allowed for them to pull apart, but only far enough for him to be able to stare deeply into her eyes.

"I was, but then I realized in this year since you've been divorced that I can't live without you."

She further distanced herself from him to glare at him.

"How did _you_ know I've been divorced from Donald for a year?"

"I have my ways, Margaret. Anyway, how have you been? I've missed you more than you'll ever know. I was devastated when they told me you weren't here."

"What are you talking about?" she countered, her eyes narrowed. "I was in Tokyo."

"What for?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, Colonel," she replied coolly, grabbing the handle of a suitcase. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to unpack."

"Let me carry your things, Margaret," Frank earnestly offered, grabbing her hand. "Please. I'll bring them right inside your tent so you don't have to lift a finger."

"No, Frank," she replied coldly, pulling her hand away. "I can manage on my own."

"Speaking of which," he said, "is that what you're doing?"

She looked at him with confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean," he spouted, "you're single now, right?"

Margaret froze.

"Like I said, I know you're not married to Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott anymore," he added with a smirk.

"That's just creepy that you've been keeping tabs on me, Frank."

"What's creepy about that? I'm looking out for the one I love."

"I'm sure your wife appreciated that," Margaret spat bitterly.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," he replied with a smirk. "I'm single now."

Her eyes instinctively went wide. Had Frank left his wife for her? She waited for explanation before feeling flattered by the gesture.

"What?"

"You heard right, Margaret. Louise is no more." At that he grabbed Margaret's hands in his own. "Now we can be together with no distractions, no secrecy…."

Margaret's face was sympathetic and he took this as encouragement, until she spoke.

"Are you a widower?"

"God, I wish I was," he blurted. "I would have inherited—"at the look of horror on Margaret's face, he changed his statement. "—the children's love, completely. You know, just Daddy and the girls." He followed it up with a high-pitched nervous giggle.

"How can you say such a thing?" Margaret fumed, tearing her hand away from him once more. It was a vile statement for even Frank to make, and it sickened her. "She's the mother of your children!"

"And the bane of my existence," Frank replied nonchalantly with a roll of the eyes. He followed his indifference up with a hopeful smile. "So what do you say, Margaret? Can we give it another go?"

"Are you kidding me?" Margaret said with a laugh. "First of all, you're stateside now. And everything I liked about you is gone."

"No, it's not!" he blurted. "I still have my baby blues, and my endurance…"

She rolled her eyes.

"It was your upholding of the rules. Discipline. Patriotism. Your sneaking away from your job in the States goes against all that you stood for."

"I still stand for it. It's just—you're more important than all that, Margaret. I would join the Commies if it meant I could be with you."

"Now that's exactly what I don't want to hear, Frank," she retorted. "What's left for me to cling to, once all that I admired in you is gone?"

He froze for a moment, thinking.

"My leg?"

She exhaled with frustration.

"I'm not the same woman you left behind."

"Huh, that's what Pierce said," Frank replied thoughtfully. "But as you recall, it was you who left me! You flew off in that helicopter with Donald Penobscott, remember? You left me standing on the ground with only a short hug as an end to all that we've been through together! Do you know what that did to me?"

"Well, _you _stole my alarm clock and my ruby ring and you lied about having both of them. You were going to give that ring to your wife, remember?"__

__"That was after you got engaged and rejected me. You forced me to do it!"_ _

__"I didn't force you to lie about it, Frank. You have no conscience. And now that you've gone AWOL, you're no longer loyal to your country. Where does that leave you?"_ _

__"Here," he replied with a shrug. "I'm loyal to you, Margaret," he added, reaching out to her and grabbing her arm. "You're my only hope. You're my sole connection to humanity. You're my rock. I want to marry you, Margaret. I mean it this time."_ _

__"What?" she sputtered. "Do you realize how late you are with that proposal? If you'd done that two years ago, you might have gotten away with it."_ _

__"What's changed in two years?" he said with a humph. "You're still here, and you're still single."_ _

__"You make being single sound like a bad thing, Frank."_ _

__"Oh, it is a bad thing. Men and women are meant to be together. And speaking of together, Margaret," he added nervously, "I'll spend the first hours of our engagement lavishing every inch of you with praise and gratitude for making me the happiest man alive. If you'd like, I can start now," he said, moving forward to lick her ear. She blanched as she glanced anxiously around the empty compound._ _

__"We are in _public_ , Frank! I don't need any rumors going around!"_ _

__"Rumors, Margaret? They could be stone-cold fact! Please, Margaret," he said, getting on one knee and grabbing her hand again, "marry me."_ _

__She could only stare down at him, aware of the fact that he didn't produce an engagement ring._ _

__"Wait… uh," she murmured, "aren't you forgetting something?"_ _

__He looked down at his clothing and saw nothing out of the ordinary._ _

__"A ring, Frank," she muttered._ _

__"Oh, right," he replied sheepishly. "I _had _a ring for you, I really did—it was a diamond and was way bigger than the one Colonel Penobsnot gave you, though that's not saying much... Anyway, I had to—"___ _

____"The wife get it in the divorce?" Margaret interrupted._ _ _ _

____"No—I had to pawn it to fly over here. It's probably still at the pawn shop as we speak."_ _ _ _

____He saw that she was frowning at him now. Did he not have any money? Predictably, he began to babble in the ensuing silence._ _ _ _

____"Eh, you know what? Forget about that ring. Right when we get back to the States I'll buy you one that's double the size of it and—"_ _ _ _

____"Don't bother, Frank," she replied crankily. "The answer is no."_ _ _ _

____"How can you say that?" he cried. "You've been waiting for a long time to hear those words—you told me that yourself!"_ _ _ _

____"I'm different now. It's been more than a year since I've seen you. It's not just you; I'm no longer dependent on a man to be happy."_ _ _ _

____"Well, what about me?" he whined shrilly. "I'm dependent on you to be happy! When you're happy, I'm happy!"_ _ _ _

____Margaret sighed at him. This was yet another version of their tired arguments._ _ _ _

____"Well, I'm happier without you, Frank."_ _ _ _

____\------------------------------------------------------_ _ _ _

____The guilt at this point was enough to make Margaret nauseous. That and the fact that she had lost a pulse on Major Winchester, who had lost so much blood that his skin was nearly gray. Her face, on the other hand, was stark white, her hands clammy and fumbling with the diaphragm on the stethoscope. This was all her fault! Her most civilized friend, a lover of music and culture and the deliverer of the driest and yet most delicious retorts to Hawkeye and B.J., had left the world of the living…_ _ _ _

____"He's got no pulse, Doctor," Margaret cried, her eyes wide as she gaped at Charles lying there, so near her and yet seemingly far away. "Do something!" Colonel Potter looked up with shock, taking his focus off of his patient. Father Mulcahy, who'd been lingering near a hesitant Frank Burns, jogged over and stood with his hands in prayer by Charles's side._ _ _ _

____"What? No," Hawkeye muttered, his gaze far off. It snapped to focus on Charles. "Ease up on the anesthetic—maybe it's too high—"_ _ _ _

____"It's the fact that he's not holding down the blood we've been giving him," B.J. cut in. "That and the fact that I can't find the damn bleeder!" He leapt forth, placing his hands on Charles's sternum._ _ _ _

____"Compressions," B.J. said with a grim nod, glancing at Margaret to see that she looked much like a ghost. Hawkeye pushed Hunnicutt out of the way, putting his own hands where B.J.'s had been._ _ _ _

____"I can manage this part myself, Beej. Just try to find that bleeder. Nurse, another unit of whole blood!"_ _ _ _

____A wide-eyed Nurse Able replied to his request._ _ _ _

____"We don't have many more, Doctor, and there are at least forty more patients outside—"_ _ _ _

____"I don't care!" Hawkeye yelled, his eyes wild. "Go get it!"_ _ _ _

____"Frank's got the same blood type. Drain _him_ if you have to!" Margaret raged. She looked over at Frank's wide-eyed stare, his hands not yet bloodied from his own patient. "You wouldn't mind that, would you, Frank? You're already heartless," she growled._ _ _ _

____Frank was rendered speechless, his mouth opening and closing with no sound being uttered. He could feel the hatred of everyone around him due to the fact that no one had bothered to try to smooth over Margaret's cutting remark. The palpable animosity in the room was enough to make him physically ill at ease and he attempted to take it in, saying nothing in the process._ _ _ _

____"That's the best thing you could've said, Burns," Potter called out. "Now, get cracking! Those gloves better look like they've been through surgery—not lily white!"_ _ _ _

____Frank was now completely frozen in his spot, his eyes locked on Charles's face. Major Winchester hadn't been nasty or vindictive towards him, and in fact, he had extended an olive branch to him several times and yet he was the one hanging onto life by a thread. Frank felt increasingly ill, keeping his mouth shut and eyes wide. Hawkeye continued to apply compressions to Major Winchester, his hair wild and sweat dripping down his face. Frank could see that Margaret also looked physically sick._ _ _ _

____"Anything, Margaret?" Hawkeye asked, his face red from exertion. She could only shake her head, the glimmer of tears in her eyes. Hawkeye couldn't bear to watch her in such a state, and he shut his eyes as he continued to administer chest compressions. Silently he prayed that Charles would be alright. Unlike Frank, Charles had actually become quite chummy with him and B.J. over the past several months. And dare he say it, he considered Charles a good friend. Hopefully he'd be able to joke around with Charles in post-op later as he had done with previous patients. It reminded him of only yesterday night, when he'd gotten to speak to a young soldier in post-op after watching B.J. successfully remove shrapnel from the kid's liver. Ironically enough, he'd felt oddly sympathetic towards Frank Burns then._ _ _ _

____\---------------------------------_ _ _ _

____"Welcome to post-op, Private Jackson. How're you doing?" Hawkeye cheerfully greeted the patient, no more than 18 years of age. Jackson had been one of B.J.'s patients from the last seven or so hours of O.R. duty, a young private who was now recovering in post-op. The man was resting peacefully, his curly blond hair free and unbandaged, for his injury was at his waistline and was currently covered with dressings, a hospital gown, and a sheet._ _ _ _

____"I'm feeling good, Doc," Jackson replied. He couldn't take his eyes off of Pierce's cast. "Were you the one who operated on me?"_ _ _ _

____"No—that would be Captain B.J. Hunnicutt. I assisted him on the surgery, but as you can imagine, I can't do much surgery on my own."_ _ _ _

____"That cast looks awful fresh," Jackson commented._ _ _ _

____"Thank you for noticing," Hawkeye replied with a little smile. "And would you believe it—it's fresher than anything you'll eat from the mess tent. Don't worry; you'll find that out soon enough when you get your first so-called meal."_ _ _ _

____"When will you be sending me back to the front?"_ _ _ _

____"That's easy—it's when we can see the whites of your eyes."_ _ _ _

____Jackson flashed him a look of confusion._ _ _ _

____"I don't get it, Doc. Isn't that from the Battle of Bunker Hill?"_ _ _ _

____"You sure can pick your battles, kid. Right now, your eyes are a little yellow from jaundice. Once they are white again, your liver has basically repaired the spots where the shrapnel tore through it."_ _ _ _

____"Wow," the private replied. "I didn't know that."_ _ _ _

____"You learn something new every day. Just today—I guess it would be yesterday by now—I learned what happens when your enemy gets fall-down drunk."_ _ _ _

____"What happens?"_ _ _ _

____"Heh, it's kind of odd, really," Hawkeye exhaled. "You actually get to see their human side."_ _ _ _


	9. Sealing His Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was posted out of order and is meant to follow my now-correctly posted chapter 8! So please read chapter 8 first THEN this chapter, and lots of strange loose ends and gaps in time that my mistake created will make sense!

Frank glanced despondently towards Charles and then at his own patient. His heart had been at the bottom of his stomach since the day before and it had actually sunk further from there. Self-pity enveloped him and he could hear himself gulp. Yesterday hadn't been nearly as horrible as today, and yet, here he was, using the scalpel to preserve a life and not take his own. He'd missed Margaret so badly this past year, so badly that he found himself craving just a reminder of her body, her smell. He recalled his impulsive actions after being rejected by Margaret. In a way, he mused, he'd sealed his own fate.

\--------------------------------

Frank was left standing motionless in the center of the compound, his jaw opened slightly as he watched Margaret carry her bags to her tent. The driver of the jeep started the vehicle up and drove it away without him so much as acknowledging the loud rumbling or the dust that flew up behind it. He watched his former lover carefully as she discovered the padlock on her tent door, and saw her stomp her foot in annoyance. So she hadn't put the padlock on the door. That was a small relief.

Margaret left her bags in front of her door and stomped off towards Klinger's office, unmindful of the presence of Frank across the compound…

\---------------------------

When Margaret returned with a key to Colonel Potter's padlock, her bags were missing from in front of her tent. Immediately she proceeded to the V.I.P. tent and very carefully attempted to open the door, only to find it locked. With a roar, she kicked the door open and found Frank on the bed, sniffing her unmentionables. His eyes went wide and he dropped the items as she stomped into the tent.

"You pervert!" she screamed shrilly, shoving the key into the pocket of her trousers as she prepared to confront him. He stood up and attempted to snuggle her, but was shoved forcefully away. "How disgusting, smelling my personal belongings!"

"I was doing nothing of the sort," he replied with a scoff, sitting back down on the bed. "I was checking them for explosives. You can't trust any of these squinty-eyes, even in Tokyo. Remember Pearl Harbor?"

Her eyes narrowed at him in utter frustration.

"I remember Pearl Harbor and there were no underwear bombs detonated that day. Now, get away from my stuff or I'm going to detonate a grenade in your empty head!"

He stuck out his lip as best he could in a sort of pout.

"I'm hurt, Margaret. You used to love my head."

"That was before I realized it was missing a brain!"

He moved closer to her, sitting like a schoolboy.

"Don't you remember the discipline we tried to instill here, Margaret? Have you forgotten good, old-fashioned blind patriotism?"

She shook her head, crossing her arms as she stood above him.

"That's just it, Frank; it was all blind. Everything was black or white back then. Life's not like that."

"Well, _my_ life is like that," he replied, standing up and crossing his arms in turn. "You're either with me or you're against me, a patriot or a turncoat. You're my personal patriot, Margaret."

"Not any more," Margaret remarked, glaring up at him. "You went through a breakdown, remember? You couldn't bear the thought of my being an engaged person, and went completely out of your mind when I became a married person. And look at what you're doing now!" she cried, throwing up her arms. "You're unstable!"

He frowned, taken aback by her outburst. After a time, he replied with as calm an air as ever.

"I can be stable. Please, Margaret. We'll be a team. You can keep me stable and I'll keep you fit."

Her face turned red and she clenched her jaw.

"What do you _mean_ , keep me fit?"

"Well, Margaret," he began, fidgeting with his hands, "you were in the best shape of your life because of our… nightly exercises. You're still shapely now, of course, but just a tad softer—and just as beautiful." He leaned closer towards her with every word. "We could whip you back into shape in no time—starting right now."

"How dare you insult me, Frank Burns!" she raged, resisting the urge to slap him silly. "The only whipping that should happen here is of you for your off-color remarks!"

"Are you saying you still have that horsewhip?" he replied quietly, blanching and rubbing the back of his neck. "I still have that riding crop you got me for my birthday, you know."

"You oughta whack yourself with it every time you open your mouth, Frank!"

"If that's what it takes for you to give me another chance, Margaret, so be—"

Her finger moved to his mouth to silence him. Instinctively he opened his mouth and began sucking on the finger, until it was wrenched away by a disgusted Margaret.

"Get out, Frank!" she roared. "Get your grimy—"

"This is my tent, Margaret," he replied matter-of-factly, sitting down on the bed and folding his hands on his lap. "You came to my tent to see me. That just proves that-"

"I was coming here for my clothes! Now, get your meat hooks off of my stuff!"

"Of course, darling—"

"And _don't_ call me darling!"

Margaret looked positively murderous as Frank shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his hand reaching to touch something he'd sat on. It was then that he held out a tentative hand with a pair of underwear hanging from his finger.

"Here's your panties, dear…"

"Gimme that!" she shrieked, grabbing the garment. "How dare you come to Korea presuming that I'm going to leap back into your arms! Not on your life, buster!"

"Please reconsider this, Margaret," Frank begged, standing up and possessively grabbing her arm. "I can't live without you."

She held her free fist up threateningly so that it lingered beneath his chin.

"Let me go, Frank."

His grip didn't waver. He looked right at her, his eyes resolute.

"No, I won't, Margaret. Didn't you hear what I just said? I can't live without you."

"If you don't let go of me right now, Frank, you'll wish you weren't alive!"

Immediately he closed his mouth and let his hand relax and fall from her arm. Frank stared at Margaret as she proceeded to jam her lingerie and clothing back into her suitcase without another word or glance towards her former lover. As she escaped the tense situation, she slammed the door in Frank's face but strangely enough, Frank didn't so much as flinch. Major Houlihan didn't see this odd behavior. She also didn't see the single tear sliding down Frank's cheek.

\--------------------------------

A tear slipped out of Margaret's eye at the sight of Hawkeye Pierce and B.J. Hunnicutt working feverishly on the pulseless body of Charles Winchester. She'd been feeling terrible ever since she'd seen Major Winchester's wound and this dire situation was pushing her to her limits. It was all her fault that this had happened! She recalled meeting up with the major after they'd finished operating on the first round of casualties earlier this same day. She'd returned early from her leave, but not early enough to help them with the patients. Instead, she'd learned too late of Frank's intentions for her… and himself….

\---------------------------------

"Major Houlihan," Charles Winchester stated, giving the nurse a little bow as he headed towards the Swamp from post-op. She was still carrying her suitcases but there was no jeep in sight. Winchester thought it was odd.

"Do you need me in the O.R.?"

"Not at the moment," he replied. "The wounded are all recovering in post-op."

"I'm sorry, Major," she said. "I had every intention of assisting. I came back as soon as I heard that the ceasefire was over."

"But you just arrived," Winchester replied. "You haven't even unpacked yet. Speaking of which, how was your anniversary trip?"

"It was perfect," she purred. "Massages, sake, steam baths—and I even took a trip to a spa."

His eyebrow rose with interest.

"I trust you found a companion for such… activities," he replied.

"Oh, he's just a colonel I knew from several years ago," she said dismissively. "I hadn't planned on meeting anyone in Tokyo, but he just so happened to be staying in the hotel room next to mine."

"Will you be seeing your colonel again?"

"Nah," she said. "I like being single—answering only to myself, not worrying about what he's thinking. Speaking of which, why the hell is Frank Burns here?"

"Ha," Charles said with an exhalation of breath. "Apparently he decided to pay the 4077th a little visit for the express purpose of wooing you."

"So that's why Colonel Potter was so eager to send me away," she said, staring off into the distance. Charles spoke once more.

"I only wish that I could have escaped his brand of idiocy before he'd opened his mouth. I do believe that listening to him speak actually diminishes the I.Q. of the listener."

"Ha," she said with an unreadable expression, wondering how much Winchester knew of their past relationship. His breadth of knowledge on the subject was soon revealed.

"Of course," Charles added, "in your case, that loss of I.Q. was completely reversible, or perhaps you're immune to it."

It was then that Charles remembered Frank's vow of suicide, and his stomach suddenly felt hollow.

"Have you… spoken to Colonel Burns, Major?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she spat. "He accosted me right when I got out of the jeep. Ugh. If he hadn't nabbed me right when I got here, I probably would've been able to assist you on your last patient."

"Ah. I presume you will not be rekindling a relationship with him," Charles replied, feigning mild interest.

"Not on his life," she replied matter-of-factly. "Hopefully he's gotten the point and will go back to his stateside job."

"So you informed him quite clearly of your disinterest in reuniting."

"Yes," she asked, looking both suspicious and intrigued at the questioning. "Why?"

Suddenly Pierce and Hunnicutt were strolling towards Charles and Margaret. They greeted her with hellos and quickly noticed the shade of white that Major Winchester's face had turned.

"Winchester, you're as white as a sheet," B.J. commented.

Margaret turned to look at him.

"Charles, what's wrong? You were fine a second ago."

"Was it something you ate?" Hawkeye chimed in.

"It's Colonel Burns," Charles began.

"So you ate him? I can't think of a case where cannibalism was more warranted. Thank you, Charles." Hawkeye stuck out his bandaged hand for Winchester to shake.

"Ha ha; very funny, Pierce," Winchester retorted dryly, his countenance still grave.

"Speaking of which, why didn't anyone tell me Frank was coming here?" Margaret blurted.

"Wait—you mean, you talked to him already?" B.J. said, his voice suddenly solemn.

"Yes. I told him off once and for all," she replied confidently. "Can you believe the nerve of that man, coming all the way over here just to try to win me back?" She ignored the looks of disintegrating comfort on their faces as she continued her rant. "He actually told me that he wished he was a widower! The lipless scoundrel!" Her diatribe ceased at seeing the blood-spattered cast. "Hawkeye—what happened to your hand?"

"That's not important right now; finding Frank is. I'll tell you about my hand later," Hawkeye muttered, shaking his head. "So, when did you last talk to him?"

"What's this all about?" she countered. "Since when do you care about Frank Burns?"

Hawkeye sighed, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world sat upon them.

"Since he vowed to off himself if you should turn him down."


	10. Showdown

The whole gang had gone on a manhunt for Frank Burns that morning, for he had expressed suicidal thoughts that might have already been put in motion with the rejection by Margaret. Hawkeye knocked on the door of the V.I.P. tent.

"Frank," he called out, his voice insistent. "If you're in there, open up."

No sound came from inside the tent. Hawkeye cringed and reached to open the door. It was unlocked and immediately he felt a small flood of relief. When he opened the door, there was no one inside.

"Swamp is Beej's job, the latrines are Margaret's, and Charles is checking the O.R. building," he muttered to himself, counting on his fingers. "Guess I'll check the minefield. If Frank so much as tries to end it there, I'll let him."

\-----------------------------------

Charles paced across the O.R. prep room with long strides in his search for Burns, examining every corner to find that cowering noodle of a man.

"Major, is there something wrong? You've been running around this building like a chicken with its head cut off," Potter called out, startling Winchester to turn around from his examination of the O.R. prep room. "You looking for something?"

"I'm in search of Colonel Burns," he replied.

"He went into post-op about five minutes ago. I was gonna chew him out for not helping us in the O.R. today, but he already looked plumb chewed out."

"Really," Charles said in a deadpan. Potter shrugged.

"I haven't heard any patients scream yet so he must be leavin' 'em alone."

"Right, Colonel. Well, I must be going."

\------------------------------

Charles entered the post-op ward to see beds neatly lined up, each bed containing a patient. He scanned the masses of patients for the depressed lieutenant colonel. Finally he was aware of a man sitting up in an otherwise empty bed, his body facing in the opposite direction.

"Colonel Burns," Charles called out in as cheery a voice as possible. "Is that you there?"

The man did not turn around, so Winchester continued to approach him. Eventually he was able to discern that it was indeed Frank Burns, though the man's posture was uncharacteristically poor. Was he slumped over in death?

"Why didn't you answer me, Colonel?" Winchester said as he walked around to the front of Frank. Frank was busy staring at the bed next to him, a bed containing a wounded North Korean soldier. The color returned to Charles's face at the sight of a living Frank Burns.

"Since when is my business your business?" Frank hissed, still staring at something about the bed next to his. "I don't have to answer to _you_ , Major."

"Of course you don't," Charles replied under his breath. He looked down at his watch. "Care to get some dinner, edibility aside?"

"No," Frank said with a sneer. "Leave me alone."

It was then that Charles noticed Frank's sidearm, some kind of revolver that hung off of his belt. How would he get Pierce and Hunnicutt's attention? They knew Frank Burns far better than he did, and could probably talk Frank into relinquishing his weapon. The thought of leaving post-op now was nerve-wracking, being as he wasn't sure exactly what Frank was thinking, or why he was staring at a wounded enemy soldier. Would he try to kill the patient instead of himself? Charles had since heard the stories of Frank's nervous breakdowns at important events in Margaret's life: namely, her engagement and her marriage.

"Colonel, may I ask you a question?" he murmured, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"What is it?" Frank snarled, glaring up at Charles.

"I know that you've not had the best of experiences with… _people_ , but do know that none of us wants to see you get hurt."

"It's too late for that," Frank bitterly remarked. Charles sat down on the bed next to him.

"Right," Charles replied. "What I mean is, none of us wants to see you hurt yourself."

"What ever would make you think that?" Frank replied, his voice a higher pitch. "It would be stupid for me to hurt myself when everyone else is already so good at it!"

"Now, now," Charles murmured in a calm voice. He laid his hand on Frank's shoulder, to watch Frank stand up and face him. Charles couldn't see behind him, but Hawkeye and B.J. had entered post-op during this tense moment.

"Don't patronize me, Major!" Frank yelled shrilly. "And don't pretend you like me, because I know you don't!" He pointed at the back of the room. "No one likes me!"

As he replied to Frank, Charles turned his head to see the two surgeons on the other side of the room.

"Now, that's simply not true," Charles muttered, not believing his own words.

B.J. also spoke out, immediately noticing Frank's sidearm.

"Frank, let's talk about this—"

"No—I know I'm the enemy!" Frank bellowed. "I'm the one everyone loves to hate!"

"Listen, Frank," Hawkeye called out. "Margaret didn't mean—"

"You don't know a _thing_ about Major Houlihan!" Frank roared, pointing at Pierce. "You were never with her like I was! She always means what she says!"

Charles sighed silently. It was true what Colonel Burns had said about Margaret. So the man knew _something_ , at least.

"Fine, you got me, Frank," Hawkeye said, raising his arms in a kind of surrender. "Now why don't you just give us the gun and we can talk—"

"Ha! That would be a first," Frank retorted, "You, McIntyre and Hunnicutt—you only make fun of me. All you ever do is try to make my life miserable."

"We're sorry," B.J. replied, his face grave. The earnest expression on his face indicated that he meant what he said.

There was a glimmer of hope in Frank's eye as he looked to Hawkeye, who did not appear the least bit apologetic.

"Face it, Frank, I was the enemy from day one," Hawkeye, throwing up his hands with exasperation. "You hated the way I looked, you hated the way I acted, not to mention the way I talked. You'd already made your decision about me before I could even pull the first prank on you. I'm sorry, but I can't be sorry for being me."

Charles clasped his hand to his forehead in exasperation. Stupid, idiotic Pierce. All the man had to do was feign sorrow over his past transgressions and the gun would soon be skirted away from the suicidal lieutenant colonel. Pierce's ego had seeped into his response and it was clear that Frank no longer felt hope.

"Just so you know, I never hated you, Pierce," Frank muttered. "I never thought of you as an enemy, either." His face was oddly childlike. "Enemies want to kill each other, and as much as I joked about it, I never once tried to kill you."

"That's because I was never a patient of yours," Pierce said with a sneer. He was batted on the back by B.J., who did not look happy.

"Shut up, Hawkeye," B.J. muttered under his breath. Hawkeye turned his head to see the grave expression on his friend's face. He frowned in response, clearly hurt by B.J.'s remark. This was a strange situation. Frank always made stupid threats but never carried them out; was this really so different than those other times? The other two surgeons seemed to think so.

"I second that, Pierce; shut that garrulous maw before you doom us all," Charles added, his expression both conveying exasperation and somberness.

Suddenly Frank pointed at the North Korean soldier on the next bed over. "You all see that Commie soldier there?" he said.

"You mean, that wounded man?" Charles replied, nodding to the patient. "What of it?"

"I'll bet if he wasn't wounded right now, that he'd kill all of us without a moment's thought. Now, we're true enemies, us and him."

"Actually," Charles began, "I doubt that, being as we are the ones who saved his life."

"We?" Frank squawked, breaking out of his somber tone. "I had nothing to do with it! And I wouldn't, even if I could!" Suddenly he moved towards the patient's bed and plopped down on the bed by the soldier, startling the man to attempt to move away. The North Korean soldier had a bad concussion and some shrapnel in his gut and couldn't do much to distance himself from the loud American that he couldn't understand.

"This man is conditioned to kill people like us," Frank explained. "I'm going to show you all a man happy to kill his enemy. And you know what? I'll bet you guys will find you have more in common with him than you ever thought."

"What are you talking about, Frank? You're making no sense at all," Hawkeye replied.

Frank's hand moved to his sidearm as Charles's eyes widened. Hawkeye and B.J. moved several fast paces towards the strange standoff, unsure as to what they'd do when they got there.

"What are you doing, Colonel?" Charles asked, staring wide-eyed at the weapon in Frank's hand, fully revealed.

"You'll see," Frank countered. With his free hand, he grabbed the arm of the North Korean soldier and put the revolver in it. Charles could only stare as Frank raised the wounded man's arm towards his own head. Once it had reached a spot behind Frank's temple, Frank held it to the spot and looked down at the North Korean soldier.

"Go ahead, buddy," he growled. "Pull the trigger and kill everyone's enemy. Do what Pierce would do to me if he could."

The wounded soldier could only stare up at him, completely at a loss for words. He attempted to pull his hand away from Frank's head, but Frank held fast. Charles stood up and loomed over Frank and the gun, reaching out for the weapon.

"Give me the gun, Colonel," he said as calmly as possible, holding out his hand. "And if it's any consolation, I do not consider you to be _my_ enemy."

Frank's hand did not waver from its position holding the enemy's hand to his own head.

"You took my job and you took the respect I should have had from this whole godforsaken unit," Frank seethed. "If anything, you should be my enemy."

"Can we drop the talk about enemies?" Hawkeye remarked, having become more than uncomfortable with the blame Frank had placed on his shoulders. "You know damn well that this isn't about that, anyway."

The situation in post-op had become a dangerous game of good cop/bad cop, with Hawkeye as the bad cop and B.J. and Winchester collectively as the good cop.

"I wish Margaret were here to see this, but it's not all her fault," Frank explained. "Maybe she'll assist when you're trying in vain to revive me." Frank pointed at his face with his free hand. "This is one patient you hotshots won't be able to save."

"Please give me the gun," Charles said, to watch Frank remove it from his own head and aim it between Charles's eyes.

"Get back," he instructed the major. "Move back or you'll end up just like me."

Charles complied immediately, his hands up on either side of his face in a kind of surrender. He watched Frank move the weakened patient's unwilling hand up to his temple once more, the barrel right in front of his ear.

"No wonder you're yellow; you're nothing but a coward," Frank muttered to the Korean. His finger appeared by the trigger but the soldier was struggling to pull the gun away from Frank's head. Charles stared in disbelief from his vantage point above the fracas as he watched Frank in a deadlock with the wounded soldier for control of the weapon.

The revolver fired, its blast deafening in the echoing space. Many of the patients in post-op screamed and covered their ears at the all-too familiar sound, while others rolled off their beds onto the floor. Hawkeye and B.J. leapt forward to grab the gun, which now looked to be free to fall to the ground. Frank and the North Korean soldier had not been shot by the weapon and were merely gaping at each other in awe of what had happened.

A strained breath came from Charles, who was leaning forward at an odd angle. His hand clutched his chest, dark blood staining his uniform and dribbling down onto the floor from the soaked fabric. Hawkeye and B.J. arrived to see the unnerving sight of Charles gaping wide-eyed at his lifeblood leaving his body.

"What the hell did you do, Frank?" Hawkeye roared, as B.J. scrambled forward and snatched away the gun. "What the hell did you do to him?"


	11. Hyper Tension

Less than an hour after the shooting in the post-op ward, Charles's pulseless body was being pressed and pushed and pumped in attempts to restore his heartbeat and his life, and Frank was being entrusted with the life of a patient. Frank stood wordlessly in the operating room, gaping down at a couple pieces of shrapnel embedded in his patient's small intestine. A nurse held up the x-ray taken of the man's trunk, which clearly showed seven shrapnel fragments scattered around the man's abdominal cavity.

"There's one, Doctor," his nurse said, pointing at one of the fragments. He sneered at her.

"I see it," he retorted. "I may no longer be practicing, but I'm not blind."

"Ha," Pierce snarled. "Could've fooled me, the way your patients used to turn out."

"Pierce, that's enough," Potter growled. "Just because you can't do surgery right now doesn't give you the right to _undo_ surgery. Let Burns alone."

Hawkeye made a pouty face and pointed at Burns.

"Well, he shot Charles."

"No I didn't!" Frank countered shrilly. "That… Korean shot him!"

"Lemme get this straight; are you actually trying to blame someone _else_ for your failed suicide attempt?" Pierce rebuked.

B.J. was beginning to feel more than a little torn. This was the ever-maligned Frank Burns, but he was extremely fragile at a time like this and if Hawkeye continued commenting, there was no telling what could happen.

"No more, Pierce," Colonel Potter announced. "Another word, and you'll be assigned to pre-op for the rest of the day."

Hawkeye sighed but said nothing else. No one paid him any heed because most of the people in the room were now staring at Frank Burns, aside from Potter, Hawkeye and B.J. This was the first time Frank's current mental state had been mentioned aloud to bystanders. Nurses froze in place, with Potter and Hunnicutt having to speak more insistently to get them to pay attention. All the while, Frank squirmed uncomfortably, his hands now being trusted with a scalpel, and his mind drifted from all the judgmental faces. It seemed like mere moments ago he was being stuffed into a straitjacket. There was so much yelling and panic in those moments….

\-------------------------------

"Get help!" Hawkeye screamed at B.J. "We need nurses, Colonel Potter… and a damn straitjacket." As B.J. sprinted out of the post-op ward, Hawkeye turned to Charles, who was now slowly sinking onto a bed, still clutching his chest. "You're gonna be alright, Charles. I promise."

"You can't even operate on me, you classic klutz," he murmured between ever shallower breaths, miraculously able to speak, though haltingly. "I should have heeded your and Hunnicutt's warning about Colonel Burns."

"This was not the plan!" Frank cried, his eyes wide with terror, as he sprang to his feet.

"No thanks to you," Charles groaned, "not only am I bleeding to death… but you've incapacitated the chief surgeon."

Frank huffed.

"Well, if that damn Commie had done his job—"

Suddenly, Hawkeye turned towards Frank and sucker-punched him in the face with his casted hand. Frank's world went black as he fell on top of the wounded North Korean soldier who had refused to shoot him.

\---------------------------------

"We have a pulse, Doctor!" Margaret exclaimed. She was ecstatic at the sound of the familiar thump-thump.

"Thank the Lord!" Potter commented.

Hawkeye could only sigh with utter relief.

"Ambu-Bag, nurse," B.J. called out to Nurse Able. "Now we need to get him breathing. Pulse, Margaret?"

"Forty beats per minute and increasing." She paused for half a minute. "Fifty-two. Is he breathing yet?"

"Not on his own," B.J. explained. "But we're able to expand his lungs. Cross your fingers."

Frank Burns had completely stopped focusing. He hadn't even heard the good news.

"Colonel Burns?" his nurse called. "Colonel Burns."

Frank blinked his eyes several times and looked over at his nurse. She was certainly very young and inexperienced.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Major Winchester's heart is beating again," she said happily. "Did you hear that?"

"Uh, no, I didn't. But that's great!" he exclaimed.

Frank's eyes darted around the room. He looked at Margaret, whose mouth was strained, her face beaded with sweat. B.J. Hunnicutt's hair was askew, his eyes intense with concentration as he sought to restore Major Winchester's breathing. Rather than Major Winchester's life flashing before his eyes in these past few minutes, Frank's last several days of life had gone before the disgraced doctor's eyes. His bout with Margaret and his former bunkmates. The gunshot that sounded round the compound.

"What am I doing here?" Frank murmured, shaking his head slowly as realization truly hit him. "I don't belong in here. I don't belong anywhere."

"I heard that, Burns," Colonel Potter huffed. "Right now you belong here. In fact, you _are_ here. In case you haven't noticed, that patient's life is in your hands. Now get on saving it."

B.J. suddenly called out the status of his patient.

"He's breathing on his own! Blood pressure, Margaret?"

"Eighty over fifty," she told B.J. "It seems to be steadily—"

"How is Major Winchester doing?" Frank interrupted.

"It's about time you asked," Pierce grumbled. "It's the least you could do, being as you put him in this state."

Margaret rolled her eyes. Must Pierce and Frank always antagonize the other?

"He's hardly stable, but he's getting there. That was very nice of you to ask, Frank."

"You really think so?" Frank questioned, a boyish innocence on his face. "When he's stable, would you let me know, dear?"

Margaret bit her tongue. Now was not the time to point out his incorrect reference to her.

"Alright, Frank," she tersely replied. "Now, get back to work."

\---------------------------------

"Good work, Doctor," the nurse murmured. Amazingly, now that Major Houlihan had addressed her surgeon, Frank Burns had gained complete focus and had methodically removed the shrapnel from his patient and had even exteriorized part of the colon that he had to resection. Although she knew nothing about the doctor except what Hawkeye had announced in the O.R., she was quite glad that this shift was uneventful.

"One more patient and that's a wrap," Klinger called in. "Anyone to move to post-op?"

"Major Charles Winchester," B.J. announced regally, laying a gloved hand on Charles's hand. It was warm and still pumping lifeblood through its veins and arteries. Charles had made it through the surgery and was now breathing on his own, albeit shallowly.

The entire operating room let out a collective sigh of relief as Klinger moved forward to fetch the gurney. No one dared say anything, lest Charles take a turn for the worse.

"Oh, that's just stupendous!" Frank's voice suddenly rang out. "Margaret?"

The blonde nurse was immediately rattled.

"Yes?"

"Would you be my nurse—you know, for my last hurrah?" he asked her. "This is it for me, you know." Frank's nurse stood by him feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second.

"Would you please stop with all the finality talk? Tomorrow is another day, Frank," B.J. commented.

"I'm done with the real finality stuff—we all know damn well that this is my last patient," Frank replied.

Hawkeye Pierce shut his mouth before he could let out his jokey reply, a move that took all the willpower he could muster. Margaret looked towards Colonel Potter. Now was the time to keep Frank under control until they could figure out what to do with him. Meanwhile, the final patient of the group was wheeled in front of B.J. Colonel Potter gave Margaret a slight nod.

"Sure, Frank," Margaret replied, her smile widening. "Nurse, I'll be taking over your position. You'll be prepping Dr. Hunnicutt."

\--------------------------

As soon as the blonde head nurse arrived at Frank Burns' operating table, wearing fresh gloves, Frank began to talk.

"It's like old times again, isn't it?" he said with a silly smile. "You, me, an injured man…. Life and death in the balance, fate decided upon by the sheer dexterity of these hands." He held his bloodied and gloved hands up in front of his face, looking at them as if it were the first time he'd ever done so.

Burns's comment was wildly egotistical, but Margaret avoided the conflict that would arise if she addressed it. Thankfully Pierce and Hunnicutt also kept their mouths shut. Margaret sought to be direct with the surgeon. She looked at him, still as disheveled and mentally exhausted as she was during Major Winchester's surgery. "What do you need me to do?"

"Marry me," he replied abruptly, touching her gloved hand with his own. "I know I don't have much of a career left now, but you were my intention for coming here."

"Should've called first," Pierce joked. "She could've refused you just as easily over the phone."

Frank largely ignored the dark-haired surgeon with the casted hand. Instead he stared expectantly at Margaret, waiting for her response as if it could be anything but a no.

"I meant if you needed me to give you some sutures, Frank," Margaret replied, leery of setting him off. He did in fact have a sharp object in his hand that he could use for any purpose he saw fit. Frank's future was bleak in any case. "You need to close the patient."

"I know that," he snapped. "Hmmph. Once this patient is closed, my surgeon's book is too. I'm no dummy—I know what's coming."

Margaret stared at the man who had once been her lover. Was Frank Burns going to finally accept responsibility for his actions? This was a man who without guilt cheated on his wife, ignored his children, and refused to treat anyone who wasn't an American soldier. There was a clarity in his eyes that seemed to suggest that the gravity of the situation was perhaps understood.

"I'm sure that whatever bad things you think are coming will be lessened if you close up this patient and finish your job with the dignity I know you have in you," she replied.

"Sorry, Margaret, but that was removed from him in his early youth along with his wisdom teeth," Pierce jeered. There was no laughter in the O.R.

"That's enough, Pierce," Margaret retorted tiredly. "Sometimes you just go too damn far…"

"My fist maybe, but not me," he replied with a grin, making reference to the bandaged hand that was one for two in punching Frank Burns. No one in the room laughed along with him, not even B.J. He immediately felt a wave of shame. Perhaps he had gone too far—his hand was bandaged, Charles was in recovery from a point blank gunshot, and Frank was busy working on his final patient. "Okay—in all seriousness, I'm sorry, Frank," Hawkeye said. "I went too far. No more jokes."

Frank froze for a moment in mid-stitch and looked up with pure astonishment.

"For good?"

"Depends—how long are you gonna be here?" Pierce replied. Frank looked crestfallen, and Pierce immediately corrected himself, shaking his head resolutely. "I mean it; I'm done joking for good. I'm going to leave you alone from now on."

"Do you really mean it, Pierce?" Frank asked, unable to do much else but stare blatantly at the man.

"I do."

Frank turned to Margaret, his face full of disappointment.

"Now, why won't you say that to me… in front of a priest?" Frank asked the nurse.

Her response bordered on immense irritation, her teeth closed as she spoke. She let out an exasperated sigh.

"If you don't close your patient, Frank, I will. Can we talk about this later?"

\-----------------------------

Frank stood at the side of the table, his gloved hands resting on the edge of the gurney. Thankfully he had since put away his surgical instruments.

"All done," Frank announced, grimacing. "My last patient." His eyes moved to B.J.'s table, where B.J. was now closing his patient. The room was almost emptied of patients now, all of whom were recovering in the post-op ward. The most important patient in that ward was Major Winchester, the fate of whom held Frank's life in the balance.

"Good job, Son," Colonel Potter commented from across the room. "I knew you had it in you. You knew deep down that sticking with it was the right thing to do."

"Of course it was, Colonel," Frank replied with a lipless smile. He almost felt faint, but maintained a strong front. "I'm glad I was given this chance to redeem myself."

"Uh, well, it'll certainly help your case," Colonel Potter commented uneasily. Surgery was Frank's duty—hardly a redeeming factor in and of itself. Potter said no more, lest he rile up the unstable man.

Klinger stepped forward to wheel Frank's patient away while Margaret removed Frank's gloves. Frank's smile faded to a grimace of acceptance. It was a surprisingly somber moment. Even Hawkeye Pierce had the courtesy to avoid speaking in this moment of permanence. Frank Burns was forever finished in the field of medicine.


	12. Civility

CHAPTER 12 - Civility

Margaret frowned at seeing no sign of Frank Burns in the hospital building. She stood in O.R. with her nurses, giving tasks to particular nurses in terms of clean-up, sterilization, and post-op duties, now that the shift was over. The absence of Frank Burns clearly bothered her, and she fell silent several times in mid-sentence, her eyes focused off in the distance.

Usually he'd linger around post-op or perhaps even berate Radar in the company clerk's office while she finished up in the O.R. with her nurses. Anything to throw people off in thinking that he was waiting for her. Just earlier he had essentially proposed to her, and now he had disappeared. She hadn't even given him an answer. Had Frank finally given up on winning her back?

Meanwhile, the surgeons made their way to the mess tent for a late breakfast. Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and walked alone, not even bothering to wait for Margaret, who was assisting her nurses in cleaning up the operating room. Pierce and Hunnicutt walked together about twenty steps ahead of him. Frank kept his head down, considering his next move. The air was still cool and thick with mist from the morning, and the M.A.S.H. was eerily quiet.

Frank's arrival at the 4077th was an attempt to regain the life he had lost. Now it was extremely clear that things would never be the way they were ever again. Margaret had lost all interest, Radar was gone, the very competent and now badly wounded Major Winchester had taken Frank's place, Colonel Potter was probably moments from arresting him, and Pierce…

Pierce had sworn off joking about him. It was quite possibly the only good change that was made. Even so, Frank wouldn't believe it until he experienced a conversation with Pierce that didn't involve some form of jeering. The last major conversation he'd had with Pierce in which Pierce had taken his side was when Margaret first announced her engagement.

They had been sitting at the mess tent table and Frank had invited Hawkeye to Rosie's to hang out with some nurses. Frank had cracked a joke at Margaret's expense, a joke about her age. To see his fellow surgeons laughing along with him was a feeling that Frank had held onto for years.

But Pierce hadn't done this out of kindness or better yet, respect towards him. He'd done it because he was afraid, right?

\-----------------------------------

"Klinger, get HQ on the horn," Potter instructed Klinger, upon entering the company clerk's office. "We need an ambulance sent for Colonel Burns, before he does somethin' else. Did you see him leave the O.R.?"

"Well, Major Houlihan's still in there, so he could be hanging around, waiting for her," Klinger admitted. "I could check the mess tent—they've cooked up a late breakfast for everyone today."

"I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that breakfast was made," Colonel Potter said with a chuckle. "Before you head over to breakfast to sample the fare, make sure we got someone comin' for Frank."

"Sure thing, Sir. It'll probably take 'em a couple of hours to get here; is that alright?"

"I think so," Potter replied. "If nothing else, it'll give him some time to tie up all his loose ends."

\----------------------

"Pierce."

Frank took a seat with his filled tray, directly opposite Hawkeye and B.J. However, his gaze was locked on the dark-haired man. Pierce wisely kept his casted hand under the table. No use reminding Frank of what Pierce had attempted to do to him.

"Burns."

Hawkeye met his eye with an equally intense stare. B.J. could only scratch his head in confusion. Was this supposed to be funny or was this the beginning of another suicidal rage?

Several seconds passed as Frank looked more and more self-conscious and impatient. Finally, the man could take it no more.

"Did you mean it when you said you'd stop picking on me?" Frank blurted.

"I did, Frank," Hawkeye said with a slight bowing of his head.

Frank's head tilted with catlike interest.

"Why?"

Hawkeye looked surprised for a moment. He hadn't expected Frank to delve into the precise reason. Usually when something good happened to Frank, he didn't question it and instead assumed away what it meant.

"It's because you're scared of me now—is that right?" Frank asked.

"No," Hawkeye replied. "It's not because of that."

Frank paused for a moment, confused by the response. He blinked several times, remembering how the surgeons had first reacted when they saw him with the pistol in the post-op ward.

"You're not scared of me?"

"Why would I be?" Hawkeye said. "We've all felt close to the end of our ropes, we've all held guns and misfired guns. We've all gone through the crap you went through today, Frank. In most cases, though, Charles wasn't in the way."

B.J. couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"Though when you look at Charles's bulk, it's a miracle that he wasn't in the way then too," B.J. added with a shrug.

Frank was clearly taken aback by Pierce's confession.

"Are you saying that you've felt like just… ending it all?" he asked the two of them.

"Sure—for starters, it's a lot better than beginning it again," Pierce replied, grimacing.

"I still find myself amazed that I made it through my first week in Korea," B.J. admitted. "I'd never been more depressed in my life. Leaving my family to fix people that shouldn't be broken in the first place…. Everything was pointless."

"Was? I would argue that everything still is pointless," Pierce replied. "Kids sent over here that will never be the same. Parts that took nine months to form blown away in the blink of an eye. Kids saying goodbye to their parents, only they don't know the bye is for good."

"You're right, Hawk," B.J. admitted, sighing with sadness. "Everything is still pointless."

A minute passed as Frank absorbed the words of his fellow surgeons.

"Well, why are you both still here then? If everything is, as you say, pointless."

"The only reason I'm still here is because I think of what I left behind," B.J. explained. "Peg. Erin. Just picturing them waiting at home for me gives me the strength I need to get through those times."

"What about you?" Frank blurted, turning to Pierce. "You have no family waiting for you."

"Humor is the only thing getting me through Korea," he explained. "That's it. If I took everything seriously I'd already be buried back in Crabapple Cove, delivered to my dad in a flag-draped coffin years ago."

"You mean, if you took _anything_ seriously," Frank huffed.

"Touché," Pierce admitted. "But that's it. That's what gets me by. I try to find humor wherever I look. Now, you Frank, you took everything seriously. I need a higher dose of humor around you because you never joke about anything—it's like you suck the fun right out of the air. My picking on you gives me my extra dose of humor."

"Well, what about me? How do you think that made me feel?" Frank said poutily. "Why didn't you let me in on your M.O. before you started on your little tirades?"

"You wouldn't have stood for it," Hawkeye explained. "Anyway, you don't tell someone about the banana peel before you throw it out in front of them." He shrugged. "Takes all the humor out of it."

\---------------------

"There you are, Burns," Potter announced, striding into the mess tent with Klinger and Margaret. "Been lookin' everywhere for you."

"No need," Frank replied with a sigh. "I can't really go anywhere from here anyway."

"I dunno," Klinger commented, "Other than the minefield, this place is surrounded by places to go."

Frank huffed.

"If that's true, why didn't you go AWOL? Was that whole section 8 nonsense merely an excuse for you to wear dresses?"

"I wanted to preserve my life. In case you didn't notice, a lotta guys around here don't like us and would shoot us on sight," Klinger admitted. "I didn't want to risk it." Frank raised his eyebrow. Pierce and now Klinger was admitting wrong? What was this world coming to?

"Burns," Colonel Potter said with a gesture, "I need to speak with you in my office."

Frank Burns stood up quickly, so quickly that Hawkeye, B.J. and Colonel Potter all flinched.

"You can just tell me here, Sir," Frank replied, standing straight as a board. "I doubt I'll be surprised by the news."

"If that's what you prefer."

"It is, Sir."

"I've called the MPs here to come pick you up. I did tell them of your stepping up in the end to help the wounded boys, and I would imagine that'll help your case."

Frank Burns did not so much as blink.

"I was only doing my job—well, what was my job, Colonel," he simply stated. "How long do you think it'll be 'til they get here?"

Hawkeye and B.J. looked at each other with incredulity. Why hadn't this set Frank off?

"Couple of hours, I'd imagine," Potter replied. "It's up to you to decide what you'll be doing in those hours. If you're thinking of trying anything, you'll spend your time in that straitjacket; otherwise, you can walk around and say your proper goodbyes."

"Well, you certainly don't have to worry about any shooting going on," Frank explained. "I don't even know where my gun is."

Potter looked stern and pointed at Frank.

"And it's gonna stay that way, understand?"

"Of course."

"Just because you will be free to walk around doesn't mean we won't be watchin' you," Potter further warned. "You're not gonna be putting anyone else in the O.R., including yourself."

\----------------------------------

After being explicitly told of his impending arrest, Frank yawned, turned around and sat back down across from Hawkeye and B.J.

"So, is the fare faring any better?" he asked them, his face devoid of all emotion.

"Uh, no, it isn't," Hawkeye stammered. Was Frank being… matter-of-fact?

Margaret approached the table.

"Frank, I can talk with you now," she said. He didn't bother turning around to address her. Instead, he raised a finger.

"Just a minute."

Pierce's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Hawk," Frank said languidly, "what do you plan on doing when this police action is finally over?"

"Uh, which one?" Pierce asked honestly, sputtering from the friendly use of his name. Korea was a 'police action' but then so was Frank's impending arrest. Was this really how Frank acted normally, so civil and calm?

"The Korean War. I didn't mean this whole rigmarole," Frank clarified with a dismissive hand gesture. "Do you think you'll ever settle down?"

"You mean, with a woman?" Hawkeye asked, still in a daze of warped reality. How had this conversation remained so damn civil for so long? This had to be a record.

"Yes," Frank replied. "What else could I have meant?"

"Uh, well, I dunno."

"When I arrived here, you claimed to be married to Margaret. So… why not?" Frank finished his sentence with a sly little smile.

Hawkeye spit out his drink. B.J. blinked rapidly several times and pinched his arm to reassure himself that this wasn't some kind of conjured reality.

"I'm standing right here, Frank," Margaret seethed, her arms crossed in a threatening position as she stood behind him. "You can't just pass off a human being like a possession. Besides, I never belonged to you in the first place."

"Yes you did," Frank murmured, his voice trailing off. He sounded strangely far away. "For a couple of months, you belonged to me."

Margaret's face turned beet red.

"How dare you?" she spat. "How—"

"And I belonged to you, Margaret," he interrupted, turning midway to look up at her. "I would have died for you. I still would. I'm always yours."

"I'm going to my tent," Margaret fumed. "This doesn't need to be made public. You'd be smart to discuss this with me there."

"I have a few loose ends to tie up first," Frank replied, turning back around. "I'll be over after that."

Margaret stomped away as Frank's face revealed for an instant to Pierce and Hunnicutt all the agony he was in over his situation. Immediately the look disappeared and Frank slumped over, beginning to spoon dry eggs into his mouth.

"Tough break with the MPs, Frank," B.J. muttered. "But look at the bright side—if Charles pulls through, you'll be back out in no time."

"My goose is cooked," Frank replied. "I hope they send me to jail. That mental hospital I was sent to after Margaret's wedding was the worst. All they do day and night is try to get into your head."

"By jail, do you mean Leavenworth?" Hawkeye replied, almost choking on the excuse for bacon. "I can't imagine that that would be a walk in the park."

"Eh, I can take care of myself," Frank snorted. "I've never had it very easy, so I'm more than used to it. Maybe I can get a job at the prison infirmary."

"What about Louise and your girls?" B.J. asked. "You'll be in Kansas."

"I've more of a chance of Auntie Em stopping by," Frank murmured emotionlessly. "Hell, I'd be surprised if they even cared to find out what happened to me."

"I have a question to ask you, Frank," Hawkeye ventured carefully. His eyes were searching and still in disbelief. He lowered his voice as Colonel Potter proceeded to the buffet line. "Are you really gonna let them take you? Or are you gonna do something else?"

"That was two questions," Frank replied. "To answer the first one, I don't really have a choice. To answer the second one, no."

"I'm amazed at how you're taking this," Hawkeye blurted. "I didn't know you had it in you. You're just so… I dunno, _calm_."

"Yeah, Frank," B.J. chimed in. "I'm actually impressed. I just hope you don't have something up your sleeve."

"Nothing up my sleeve but lint," Frank muttered.

\-------------------

Frank gingerly stepped into the post-op ward. This was his first errand, to speak with his unintended victim. Thankfully Winchester was close to the door and far from the wounded Korean man he had shanghaied into pulling the trigger of his pistol.

"Major Winchester," he murmured, hands clasped behind his back. B.J. slowly took a seat across the post-op ward to keep an eye on Frank from a distance. There were things that Frank needed to say to the Boston-born surgeon but Potter had wisely insisted that he had to be watched.

"You look pretty flushed," Frank noted, putting the back of his hand on Charles's forehead. "That's probably a good sign… I think. Ah, and you're warm too. I hope it's not fever."

He stared at Charles for several minutes but didn't know what to say. It was now or never. Soon the MPs would be arriving with shackles and all sorts of restraints, to toss him into either a mental hospital or prison.

"Should be waking up soon, I imagine," Frank muttered, glancing at his wristwatch. Certainly the anesthetic would be wearing off minute by minute. Charles's eyes stayed shut. "Ugh, why do I have to do all the talking?" Frank grumbled. He glanced across the room to see that B.J. was trying his best not to stare blatantly in his direction. Already he'd lost his freedom.

Charles had gotten the bullet he was meant to get, the bullet that was meant to prove a point to everyone. That fact both ashamed and infuriated him.

"Why did you feel the need to stop me from ending it all?" Frank griped in a loud voice. He sat down on the edge of the bed near Charles's midsection. "You know nothing of my pain."

Suddenly a strained grunting sound emerged from Charles's lips as his shoulder squirmed. Frank almost jumped a foot in the air.

"In fact—" Charles started, "I'll bet I'm in… more pain than you'll ever… be in." His voice was low and slightly slurred, the anesthetic still in the process of wearing off completely. "No thanks to you." As he spoke he strained to breathe, eyes squinted in pain.

B.J. saw what had happened and ran over to the scene. Charles was now awake and there was no morphine IV in sight. By the sight of Charles's gritted teeth, squinted eyes and grunts of pain, it was obvious that he needed morphine.

"Just a minute, Charles!" he exclaimed. "I'll get you some morphine." With that, Hunnicutt dashed out of the post-op onto the compound, leaving Frank alone with Winchester. Charles's eyes went wide for a moment. At last he remembered, Frank was still very much suicidal. How could Hunnicutt make such a dire error in judgment? This man before him was not trustworthy by any accounts. Why was Burns not restrained in a corner of the supply room, awaiting the MPs? Instead he was here unguarded with Charles, the collateral damage in a thwarted suicide attempt.

\--------------------------------

"So now that you're awake, I need you to answer my question," Frank told Charles as the latter man lay in his bed. "Why did you try to take my gun from me?"

"Is it not obvious?" Charles groaned. "You were… hardly in the state… of mind to brandish it." With that, Winchester shut his eyes tightly. "I'm through talking. Too much pain."

"Now, you listen here, Major, soon you're gonna get that morphine and you'll be out. By the time you wake up again, I'm going to be on my way to Leavenworth or some loony bin. I just need to know one more thing."

Charles said nothing, keeping his eyes shut. His breaths were shallow and strained, but Frank didn't seem to notice this.

"Why did you try to be nice to me?" Frank asked. There was a pause in which Charles drew up the wind to speak.

"I didn't try," Charles began haltingly. "I _was_ nice to you. You… on the other hand…."

"Let's not argue semantics, Major," Frank growled. "Why did you do it?"

"Ugh… Now you're adding insult… to injury," Charles said in a strained voice. "I'm in pain, you fool. It isn't easy… for me to talk."

"Then answer me."

"Human decency!" Charles practically roared. "Which you do not possess! In spite… of all that I had heard… about you from Pierce… and Hunnicutt, I had no prejudices against… you. A serious error in… judgment on my part."

"But if you hadn't tried to befriend me, you would never have gotten close enough to—"

"To be shot," Charles interrupted. "I am aware."

"No—to save my life," Frank blurted. Suddenly he realized the weight of his statement. He was crediting Charles for saving him. He hadn't meant to do that. "Not that it should have been saved," he quickly added, his eyes darting around the room self-consciously.

"Are you seeking… some sort of… approval from me?" Charles groaned, attempting to move his damaged shoulder. "I swear to heaven above, if I lose the use of my… arm, I will find you and put an end to your miserable little life myself."

"Okay!" Frank said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "I just wanted to know that. You were nice to me because of human decency. And not having prejudice against me."

"I shall never make that mistake again," Charles grunted through his teeth. "Now let me rest, for the love of all that is holy!"

\----------------------------

"Where is B.J. with the morphine?" Frank muttered to himself as he stood at the door to the post-op ward. "He should have been back by now."

When Frank opened the door which led onto the open compound, what he saw shocked him. Several nurses hid behind tents. A couple of enlisted men raced at full speed across the compound, but in general, the compound was empty. Suddenly a sniper bullet whizzed through the Swamp, followed by the sound of bullets ricocheting off the corrugated metal of the hospital building. Immediately Frank shut the door and moved back into the post-op ward.

" _Snipers on the compound. All buildings on lockdown. Head for cover_ ," the P.A. announced.

He could hear Winchester sigh heavily from his bed at the announcement.

"It figures," Frank huffed. "Snipers on the compound, and me with no gun to return fire." Charles could only make a scoffing sound. Frank turned to Charles fully, his face full of strange innocence. "Should I try to find B.J.?" he asked.

"Are you mad?" Charles said with a grimace. "Did you not hear the… message? It's meant to be followed."

Frank fidgeted as he stood by the closed door. Several times bullets struck the metal directly outside where Frank stood, but he could only shift from foot to foot, apparently deep in thought.

"You know what?" Frank stated, looking resolute. "I'm going to get you that morphine. Besides, I'm the one who put you in this position in the first place."

There was a moment of startled silence.

"No! That's suicide!" Charles bellowed. Immediately he whimpered. He'd spoken too loudly. Pain shot through his chest, radiating into his arm.

"Suicide with a purple heart to show for it," Frank reassured him, nodding as he remained eerily calm. "A purple heart I've earned."

"That's only if you're wounded!" Charles spat. "Not killed! Have you learned nothing from your time here!"

"Wasn't it you who said you'd kill me yourself?" Frank pointed out with a shrug. "Hmph… seems like you just said that, actually."

"A figure of speech!" Charles responded. "Now, stop this inane talk!"

"No," Frank replied, absolutely resolute. "You can't get in the way this time. Thanks for being nice to me. If I die, just make sure to tell them how."

"Stupidly!" Charles spat viciously. "You will get no praise from me for dying of stupidity!"

"I suppose it's only fitting," Frank murmured, clearly disappointed. "At least I'll avoid Leavenworth. Goodbye, Major."

With that, Frank Burns stepped out the door of the post-op into the open compound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave some feedback :)


	13. Sniper

**A/N: This is the final chapter! I hope you will let me know what you thought of this story. I HIGHLY recommend downloading and playing Jo Stafford & the Pied Pipers' version of "I'll Be Seeing You" throughout this chapter. It's a beautiful song, and I played it on repeat the whole time.**  
________________________________________

CHAPTER 13 - Sniper

The compound was wholly deserted, not a soul in sight. Frank Burns took two steps in the direction of the supply tent across the compound. He could see off in the distance dust clouds rising from the road created by a small caravan of MPs that were certainly going to be arresting him. Boy, would they be surprised when they were made aware of the snipers!

The blue-eyed surgeon took several more steps, considering. The motor pool lie to his left, the supply tent straight ahead. He squinted his eyes to make out a dusty Hunnicutt hiding under the jeep with a grease-covered Rizzo, both staring off into the brush in the direction of the snipers. Suddenly a bullet whizzed by Frank's head and he fell to the ground, scrambling along on his hands and knees. Now Hunnicutt and Rizzo were aware of his presence, and gaped at him.

"What the hell are you doing, Frank?" Hunnicutt screamed out. "Get under cover!"

"But don't you come over here," Rizzo added, a cigar flapping between his gritted teeth. "We don't got no room under here."

"We can make room!" Hunnicutt hissed. Frank crawled on his hands and knees towards the supply tent, keeping his distance from the motor pool.

"I'm not hiding," Frank told the pair. "I'm getting that morphine for Major Winchester."

"Your life is more important than his pain. He'll live," B.J. replied, shuffling around under the jeep. "Now, get over here—I'll make some room."

A bullet exploded the gravelly sand in front of Frank's face and he scrambled backwards, landing on his haunches.

"Get over here, Frank! You're going to be killed!"

"Where's Margaret?" Frank asked, ignoring Hunnicutt's warning.

"Does it really matter right now!" B.J. hissed. "If she could see you right now, she'd be worse than I am right now! Now, get over here!"

"Ah, so that explains the silence," Frank said, looking thoughtful as several bullets ricocheted off of nearby buildings. "Figures. I hope you'll tell her what I'm doing right now."

"Why don't you tell her yourself!"

Frank could only stare at B.J. with a kind of expectation, followed by a downward gaze. He was depending on B.J. to tell Margaret-that could only mean... B.J. gasped at the realization of what was going to happen here.

Suddenly, Frank leapt to his feet and raced full speed towards the supply tent, using his body as a ramrod to barrel right through the doors. A bullet struck the building but did not hit him.

"That Major Burns?" Rizzo asked B.J., gesturing at the building. He received a nod. "Woulda guessed that," the mechanic replied. "I don't know no one else stupider than him."

________________________________________

"I got it!" Frank announced triumphantly. B.J. looked up from his position under the jeep but could not see Frank in the supply tent.

"Don't you dare come out here!" B.J. yelled. "Just stay put! Please, Frank!"

"If I had a gun I could pick off a couple of 'em," Frank stated. "This will have to be the means to an end."  
"It's not the end! Charles will be fine and you'll-"

"It really is pointless, just like you and Pierce said," Frank interrupted. "Anyway, I've gone too far to turn back now. Goodbye, Captain."

With that, Frank sped off towards the post-op ward door. A bullet came from the bushes, whizzing past the motor pool and burying itself in Frank's back.

"Frank!" B.J. screamed throatily. "Frank, dammit, no!"

As Frank had the wind knocked out of him, he felt himself falling forward in slow motion. The glass bottle of morphine in his hand would surely break upon landing, and his trip would be for naught. He decided; his face would be the body part that would catch his fall. Triumphantly he raised his arms in the air and slightly behind his head, the bottle secure in both hands. With a loud _oof_ Frank landed face-first in the dirt and gravel, the bottle of morphine slipping out of his hands and rolling languidly across the compound.

"Man down!" Rizzo bellowed.

The compound around Frank blurred. Warmth covered his chest, and then it was gone. The pain from his nose striking the ground was gone. There was a tightness to his chest, as if someone had placed a giant over-wound clock in his ribcage. His lungs stubbornly refused to inflate and he opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish. Why was his body no longer listening to him? Why had his body mutinied on him? The world around him suddenly faded into crystal-clear images.

 _Margaret. He'd first spotted Margaret across the compound, her golden hair and wide toothy smile making him dizzy with desire. Louise's tightly drawn mouth and mousy spectacles faded with every heartbeat in the presence of this… army princess. His two sullen daughters, their mother's favorites, disappearing from thought. Margaret's smile aimed at him and all breathing stopped_.

Just like now, he mused. Exactly like now.

"Frank!" B.J. yelled. He attempted to move out from under the jeep but when a bullet struck the ground in front of him, Rizzo yanked him backwards and wouldn't let him go. Frank shut his eyes.

 _Margaret. The way her pale blue eyes would light up when he would speak of God and country, of summer nights and children skipping stones across the pond. Flashlights and bullfrogs, frog-jumping contests akin to Mark Twain. Patriotism and country pride. The military, a way of life_. 

Gunshots rang out, and the bushes rustled with activity. MPs were now on the compound, driving off the snipers. A tank roared to life.

 _Margaret's naked body in the dim light of the tent, as she would invite him to her bed with her come-hither glance. Leopard-print panties strewn over a lamp, riding crop warm from activity._

Tanks smashed through the brush, gunfire erupting from the MPs as they found their targets.

 _Margaret. The look of hope, her utter thrill at the thought of being his wife. The hurt in her eyes when she was rejected_. She belonged to him for a little while, that he knew.

Pierce and Hunnicutt laughing with him at Margaret's expense. Pierce and Hunnicutt empathizing with his most recent plight. 

"All clear!" MPs shouted onto the compound. Margaret leapt from her position behind the Swamp and spotted Frank's still body.

 _Margaret. Stepping onto a helicopter, her face as bright as the sun. Flying into the sky with her husband. He'd lost her_.

"Frank!" The name erupted from her throat like the scream of a wild animal. "Frank! Are you alright!"

B.J. climbed out from under the jeep and made his way towards the still man. Margaret had already fallen to her knees beside him and had begun cradling his head, her face only inches from his. Blood pooled under his body, crimson spreading over the dirt.

“Frank!” she screamed into his face. “Frank, wake up!”

Frank’s eyes remained shut but he was somehow able to will his mouth into forming a smile. _She’d returned to him._ Margaret had come back to him, and now the darkness was wrapping itself around him, like a thick blanket. Margaret could feel a single deep breath escaping his body, and he was still.

"What happened?" she screamed at B.J. "What the hell is he doing out here in the open?"

"He wanted to get Charles morphine. Charles woke up in pain."

"Oh my God," Margaret said with a gasp. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Margaret laid her head on his chest, rested her fingers on his carotid artery.

"What is it, Margaret?" B.J. queried.

"No pulse," she murmured very quietly. "No pulse." Tears welled up I n her eyes. "Oh my God. It's my fault. Frank's dead! Frank's dead and it's my fault!"

"How could this possibly be your fault? A sniper shot him," B.J. indicated.

"I forgot," she clarified. "I forgot to set up the IV for Charles. I know better than that. How could I have—"

"It was chaos, Margaret," B.J. refuted. "First, it was Charles, and then all the other wounded…. Frank operating again. There was too much going on. It's not your fault."

"We should try to revive him. We can't know how long he's been without a pulse," Margaret indicated. "Maybe there's hope…."

________________________________________

A shadow fell over the pair of medical personnel busily attempting chest compressions and breaths. Rizzo had been instructed to fetch someone to fetch an Ambu-Bag, which had not yet been delivered. B.J. and Margaret looked up to expect Rizzo in all his grease-covered glory to deliver the life-saving device. The shadow was too long to be Rizzo, however. It spoke in a familiar voice.

"What the hell happened to him?"

B.J. and Margaret peered up to see Hawkeye standing above them, deep concern on his face.

"Sniper," B.J. indicated helplessly. Margaret began to cry.

"Is he alive?"

Margaret shook her head and then buried her head in her hands.

" _Attention all personnel: the compound is clear_ ," the P.A. announced. " _Please proceed carefully._ "

"How long's it been since he was shot?" Hawkeye asked them, largely ignoring the announcement. The MPs had made it quite clear several minutes ago that the snipers were gone.

"Five minutes, maybe?" B.J. answered. "We sent Rizzo for the Ambu-Bag. I've been doing chest compressions to no avail." Hawkeye squatted down by the lifeless body and put his fingers on Frank's neck. He felt for a pulse and found nothing. He lifted an eyelid to see that Frank's eye was already becoming cloudy. It was hopeless.

"He's gone," Hawkeye murmured gravely. "Frank Burns is dead."  
________________________________________

Hawkeye picked up the morphine bottle, turning it around quizzically in his hands.

"Morphine," Margaret sniffled, explaining the medicine. "For Charles. He went to the supply tent to get it. He sacrificed his nose to make sure it didn’t break.”

Hawkeye looked confused.

"Wait—why the hell did he come out here for it? I always stow a couple extra bottles in Klinger's office. I was in the scrub room during the attack—I could have easily brought them over…"

Margaret began sobbing once again.

"It's just pointless. Totally pointless," B.J. moaned, throwing up his hands.

"Yes, it is," Hawkeye muttered.

"Well, look at it this way—he's guaranteed himself a full military burial," B.J. indicated. "Maybe a posthumous medal. But it's still pointless. Think of his wife! Think of his daughters! Oh, the horror…."

Hawkeye could only stare at Frank's face, at his most-likely broken nose—apparently he hadn't had enough time to break his fall with his hands.

Suddenly the doors to the post-op burst forth to expose Charles, clad in his hospital robes, panting with exertion and dripping with sweat. His eyes moved from Frank to the bottle of morphine.

"Oh, God," he muttered. "Is he… alright?"

Hawkeye shook his head.

"I _told_ him it was stupid! I told him!" Charles insisted. "I couldn't stop him! He just opened that damn door and…"  
His voice trailed off. Margaret stroked Frank's hair, brushing the dust out of it.

"You've ruined me, Frank," she muttered, running her fingers along his mouth, his thin lips. "You barely escaped death once—why in God's name would you do it again?" Her tears spilled onto his face, leaving little trails of dust along his skin. "Why didn't you come to my tent?" she sobbed. "What could be more important than our last couple of hours together?"

"Redemption," Hawkeye answered with a sigh. He was met with incredulous gazes. "I mean, think about it—he's been through hell – first the divorce, losing the kids, the house, his job, his money… his respect."

B.J.'s voice broke as he spoke.

"That's really all he ever wanted from anyone—respect. Well, he earned my respect with the way he handled his impending arrest with such… grace. I wish I could have told him that. Maybe his death could have been prevented."

"I was willing to talk to him," Margaret muttered, insistence in her voice. "His behavior intrigued me. Really, I thought that I could have, um, _brightened_ his last couple hours here, even. Dammit, I was even willing to forgive him for not divorcing his wife for me! I can see now why he avoided doing it! It… destroyed him…"

"I just can't believe it," Hawkeye muttered, shaking his head. "We just talked to him. For once, we talked _with_ him. We may have even gotten to bid him a proper goodbye this time, I was thinking. He was civil with us. We were civil with him…. _I_ was civil, even. For once, I was starting to understand where he was coming from, you know?"

B.J.'s voice was barely discernible. Gently he laid a hand on Frank's shoulder.

"Huh. Redemption, forgiveness, respect. Maybe Frank had a proper goodbye, after all."

________________________________________

_Finis_


End file.
